Books bound by fragile wrinkled hands
Or joined by man's devices
How little it may matter to a reader
Aching only for a sweet taste of wisdom
Lines fill with letters meant to squeeze
And ring their finest colors
Hear the soft, faint sounds of solitary breath
Collected vapors singing--in a book
---Susan Farrar 2009
When I was a fish
I saw things clearly
like baby crabs and shrimp
living in the blue world
with me and the other fish
When I was a fish
I swam all day
around the coral reef
In and out of the eel grass
without a care in the ocean
Now I am a dinner
I am disappearing fast
Two bites, three bites, four
It was more fun being a fish
swimming in my blue world
Linda is a neighbor who generously and graciously hosts watercolor classes once a week during the “high season” here in my neighborhood in Pescadero. This talented woman is an excellent teacher too; with enthusiasm she guides her students and informs us about the particulars of the medium. You can see here work here: http://lcorbetgallery.com
Learning to paint is a long and difficult process, but it has been so rewarding and fun! I want to stress that fun part. Even though in the last few days I have done 3 paintings and thrown them away because they were awful, I enjoyed every moment of the experience. I’m learning. I’m pushing myself. It is fun!
I probably ought to have taken photos of my failures to show, but I threw them out before I could get out the camera. Oh well.
But of course I took photos of the ones I think turned out worthy of a photo. And I can share those. Maybe my ego stops me from putting out my awful paintings. Of course. It is something to think about though, and next time I might snap a shot, and if I have enough courage, I can show them.
Learning from one’s mistakes and failures is important. Those are the lessons that help one improve. The work is still fun, even when they don’t turn out well. All positive reasons to keep at it.
Here are the ones that didn’t get tossed in the waste basket:
A lot of what I attempt comes from my photos. The Baja is a beautiful place, and here where the desert meets the Pacific Ocean, the natural scenes fill my heart with gratitude and joy.
As I age, which seems to be happening at an alarming rate these days, I appreciate everything in my environment more than ever. Even though there are some not-so-wonderful things like pests–cockroaches live in my palm trees, and these tiny flying insects that are known locally as bo bos surround your face and sometimes you inhale them. They impede any kind of gardening work you might want to do. Mosquitos are buzzing that high pitch sound in your ears, sometimes while you are sleeping. But these last two insects are seasonal, not here all the time. Thank goodness. Dealing with them is a small price to pay to live in this magical place.
I’ll leave you with a few more photos of my attempts to paint the goodness that is Baja.
When I paint skulls, I use acrylic paints. I don’t usually have much of a plan, I just start and let the skull tell me what to do.
My wish for you is that your life be as full of fun as mine.
When we moved here 9 years ago, I didn’t know much about Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). I have come to learn what a special way it is to remember loved ones who have died. My mother passed at 103 on March 20, 2019, so this is my first altar for her. I can’t visit the Ft. Rosecrans Cemetery as it is in San Diego, but I can see it in my mind; so beautiful, overlooking the harbor.
Mom ate cottage cheese, yogurt, and fruit every day. Yes! EVERY DAY! And she made the best chocolate cookies, and she drank tea, so I put these things on her altar for her. Each item I placed on the altar has special meaning, and of course all the photos are necessary to honor and remember her. Many of the photos show her with family, and they were happy times.
She loved Perry Como, and all the music of her youth, but she came to appreciate a lot of what the family introduced her to: IZ (Hawaiian singer), Eddie Vedder playing the ukulele, Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers, Elvis Presley, Barbra Streisand, and more. Music playing here today will make her smile.
Check out this link if you want to know more about Dia de los Muertos. http://dayofthedeadnyc.org/meaning-of-the-day-of-the-dead/
People often ask me if I have enough to do, being retired and all. I have to laugh. I am so busy having fun I can hardly get my chores done. Between working on my educational project to teach local students about the sea turtle, painting (watercolor or acrylic) on cow skulls, paper, rocks, or anything that stands still, or taking short trips to see and immerse myself in the local environment, I have little time for anything else. It’s a blessing to have so many interesting things to do. I’m in an art group here in El Pescadero where I live, “Art Just Down the Road.” The women I paint with inspire and challenge and support each other. It’s fun. Retirement is fun.
Here’s a taste:
The water, the rocks, the sea creatures are a kaleidoscope of colors. A feast for the eyes.
While one doesn’t get to do this every day, I get to do it often. Spoiled? I prefer to think I deserve it. After all I was a public school teacher for 20 years. I worked with 130 students a day when I taught high school in Washington State, grading papers on my “own time” and commuting from Whidbey Island to Mukilteo. Now I am enjoying my own time, at my own pace.
Got to get dinner ready. I’ve been having too much fun sharing my life of adventure and creations with you. Retirement is the best.
Life is good in El Pescadero and Todos Santos, but it can be better. It’s time to get out there in the community and help promote learning about the wondrous sea turtles that swim and nest here.
In Southern Baja California (Baja California Sur) we have many sea creatures that need protection. My goal is to provide the local educators with materials for their classrooms regarding the olive ridley and leatherback sea turtles (tortugas marinas) who come to our local beaches to nest.
I have seen the females laying their eggs and the hatchlings heading to the ocean. What a joy it is to witness! But human activity is responsible for the decline in population. For years people have been driving on the beaches here, which negatively impacts nests and the hatchlings. Light pollution causes problems for the females laying eggs and for the hatchlings that are drawn to the light instead of the ocean. Many governments have protections for sea turtles, but still, eggs are taken and nesting females are slaughtered for their meat and skin. Fishing nets also take a large toll, frequently snagging and drowning these turtles.
Teaching the students will inspire them to protect sea turtles (and other ocean animals) and encourage others in the community to do likewise.
I am putting together educational kits with materials for the students, some of which are consumables like informational coloring books. Other items in the kits will include books, videos, hands-on items, posters, etc. Most of these are either in Spanish, or in Spanish and English. I designed and purchased 100 stickers and 20 adult t-shirts for the teachers, and purchased many of the books already.
If you follow my blog you know how much I love the environment where I live. I have learned so much about the sea turtles and I want to help others to fall in love with them as I have.
Female turtles go back to the beach where they were born to nest. They lay between 80 and 110 eggs in a clutch. Only one in a thousand will make it to maturity. The olive ridley won’t be mature for mating until she is 15 years old. Other species will have to make it to 35 years. Birds, dogs, people, and crabs are some of the predators that eat the eggs, turtles, and hatchlings. If a hatchling makes it to the ocean, other predators and unhappy circumstances await them. It’s a wonder any of them live to breed.
The GoFundMe site helped me to raise money for my project, and my neighbors, Bill and Cathleen Small, have contributed many valuable items like a book binder and the initial purchase of many books, stickers, 20 T-shirts, and supplies. My husband doesn’t mind that I have spent our own money for this cause too, but I have now decided to do some local fundraising selling t-shirts, stickers, and reusable grocery bags. Thanks to the generous donations from my GoFundMe donors, I was able to purchase 100 adult t-shirts in various sizes and colors, and 200 more stickers, plus 200 reusable grocery bags to promote saving the environment from plastic. There is so much plastic in our oceans. Sea turtles eat jelly fish and the plastic bags in the water look like their favorite food. No Plastic! ¡Sin plástico!
Now I have to get busy and get out there with everything. The shirts and stickers will be ready for pick-up September 6th, but the grocery bags will take another week. The good news is that I was able to purchase everything locally in La Paz at Compusign, the tiny orange shop on De León.
The money I make from the sale of the items will go for more of the consumable items like the informational coloring books (using paper and ink…lots of it), crayons, and colored pencils for the schools, and for more posters and books. It is such a gratifying experience to work with the educators and the children. So far I have two schools on board. One is in El Pescadero and the other is The Palapa Learning Center in Todos Santos. If all goes well, I can grow this project to include more schools.
My goal: Teach the children about the sea turtle and they will grow into adults interested in protecting these creatures and their environment.
Although I met my goal of $1,000 with GoFundMe (I get to keep $966 and the rest is for the site), donations are always welcome. There will be on-going expenses to keep the schools in consumable supplies, and of course I want to expand to more schools. Want to donate and join me? https://www.gofundme.com/f/viva-la-tortuga
What robs you of appreciation, adventure, and the thrill of doing the possible? Pessimism, that’s what. It means you miss life’s joyful moments.
After all, the cow jumped over the moon.
You aren’t as big and bulky as a cow. If a cow can jump, so can you. You’ve been jumping all your life. (Unless you were worrying about how jumping might cause you to fall on your face.) Sometimes you just need to trust that everything will work together for good.
And while you are doing your jumping jacks through life, stop focusing on the negative things that could be looming in the future. Trust yourself. See how you can break your record, not your bones. And if you do fall? (We all fall occasionally.) If you don’t quite make it the way you wanted? Just get up. Start all over again. Fall down; get up.
What did you learn about getting up? Cherish that lesson. Not the one about if I hadn’t been jumping I never would have fallen.) 
I’m not advocating that we all become what some call a Pollyanna, like the heroine in the story that ALWAYS finds ONLY good in everything. I’m going to stop short of recommending irrepressible optimism.
There are plenty of things I find hard to accept. Most of them have something to do with bad things happening to good people. Bad things do happen to people who don’t deserve it. But I don’t play, “What if?” Good people die young. People get cancer. Fuck cancer.
None of this means our outlook must include the expectation that bad things are going to happen. No. No. No. I’m sure someone, somewhere, has done a study on how thinking and visualizing what good can come invites more of just that: Good!
I am remembering what I read about how Olympic athletes are trained to see themselves doing it right. It seems to work for a lot of them. Think about that.
Perfectionism is the enemy of change.
Expectations of perfection are assumptions anyway.
The bar is set too high.
Why not rest?
Why not opt for fun?
Stop thinking about:
Who you should be.
What you should be.
How you should be.
Perfectionism is the enemy of living in harmony with ourselves and others.
Choose a different perspective.
See the beauty in imperfection.
Take a walk on the wild side.
Dream a way into a bright new journey.
Now gives way to later.
Later is never too late.
Imperfection is a paint stain on my shirt.
Getting that stain was so much fun.
A lot is being said these days about mindfulness and living in the moment. According to what came from a Google search for mindfulness, it is “a mental state achieved by focusing one’s awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.”
I guess it’s not that intuitive, and yet it can be practiced and therefore learned. I’ve always been one who likes to just “let the day happen” to me. I’m a lover of spontaneity. Plans sometimes need to be made, of course, but as a retiree I have the luxury of letting things happen.
I’ve practiced patience, problem solving, forgiveness, and critical thinking a lot in my life, but this mindfulness business is different. I like to think of it as just allowing myself to be. I say, “Go ahead, Universe. Sock it to me. Not too hard though; please be gentle.” I may not be fragile, but I don’t like to hurt.
Lately I’ve been attempting to accept the death of my mother each day, each moment as it comes to me and I realize she is gone from this life.
Each morning I rise to greet a new day. A day with the knowledge that my mother is no longer taking breaths. My heart aches, but it is also happy. Happy knowing that Mom got her wish and her prayers were answered. She was past ready to make this transition from life to whatever death may mean. “Please God, take me. I’m ready.” She used to cry out at night pleading with her god to let her die. “I want to die.”
How realistic is it to think that someone of her advanced age, 103, would want to go on living? She felt her job was done and her body was done and it was time. She felt that way for years, and yet her heart continued to be strong, though the rest of her body had seemingly given up.
Suffering with dementia, she had diminished cognitive abilities, and yet sometimes she’d have just the right answer to a question. When we’d read to her, she often made all the expected and appropriate responses to the story or article, laughing or making other sounds of comprehension.
The stories would float away almost immediately. You could read the same story over and over to her, as you would a child who likes the same story to be read again and again. Only in Mom’s case the story would seem new.
Dementia gives real meaning to living in the moment, as all the other moments simply fade away. It’s not purposeful mindfulness, but it definitely hits the core of it.
In this moment then, I’m off to focus and enjoy my own “now.” Hope you enjoy yours too.
A crunchy, sweet, but tangy apple is what I crave. Something bittersweet. Bittersweet is a word I’ve always loved for its fascinating connotations. But now the word seems to swallow me, as I would swallow the apple I crave. For I am at the bedside of my dying mother.
Mom’s 103rd Birthday on March 16, 2019
102 on March 16, 2018
Mom has always been quite healthy, with a strong beating heart. In her youth, it was something she disliked hearing from doctors; it pissed her off for some reason. I never asked her about it because it seemed to upset her so much. Maybe she thought the doctors should find other ways to tell her how robust she was. Maybe she didn’t like the foreshadowing of it; knowing she would live such a long life. Maybe she felt guilty that her heart was so strong when her sister, Dorothy, had died so young. “She has a strong heart,” the doctors would tell her parents. And she’d be put off by the telling. 
The last ten years of my mother’s life didn’t really belong to the Mom I’d grown up with. Not to the Mom I knew who loved to dance and who retired at 68 either. Not the grandmother who took her grandsons to every water park in Southern California and to Disneyland every summer.
In her 70s and into her 80s she walked five miles around the lake near her home every day except Sunday. She got up at 5AM to exercise first too. Then the brisk walk with her friends around Lake Murray at 6AM. Sometimes afterward they went to breakfast. I always marveled at how fit she was. She square danced and round danced at least three nights a week for years and whenever she could she enjoyed ballroom dancing. I have sweet memories of seeing her graceful moves on the dance floor. She had a body that was envied.
Mom with her first grandson, my first born, Cameron. She drove all the way from Connecticut by herself to be with us.
Enjoying an outing to the San Diego Zoo
We loved to pose together!
Love the one of her in a bathing suit. She never went in the water above her knees, but she took us to the beach when we were kids. She was afraid of the water but she made sure we had swimming lessons.
It was gradual, her decline. Normal aging I guess you could say. But it wasn’t until the last ten years that it became more and more difficult. And not just difficult for her, but for those who loved her and knew her when she zoomed about and danced on her own two legs. When the wheel chair became her life she quit wanting to leave the house. Too much trouble. Too much pain to get from the wheelchair into the car. She did enjoy having her brunch outside on the patio overlooking the golf course. She did love sitting in her massage chair. And even though she only weighed 100 pounds, she had a good appetite and cleaned her plate. She loved cookies and chocolate too. Her mind began to fail, but not completely, but as she moved on into her mid to late 90s, she became more and more demented.
Mom, Step Dad, two of our three boys, Greg and me in the 80s.
At Courtney’s Doctor of Physical Therapy graduation ceremony in 2015.
In her last years I found myself missing the mother and woman she used to be. I longed to have her back; the one who baked cookies and whose filter was still firmly in place. The one who taught me to respect all people no matter their color, size, and shape. The one who was so easy to laugh with, who loved to read, and was kind to strangers and who had compassion for her husband. The mother who showed me by example how to be a strong, yet tender woman. The one who could cry when she was vulnerable or when something sad happened. Something sad like her husband dying. When my step father died, she was unable to cry, and it almost seemed like she didn’t understand. Did she really get it? She went to his funeral. She insisted on dressing up, and I helped her fix her hair, and she sat in the front row of the chapel. Some of us spoke of him that day. And she listened, but she could not cry. At the cemetery when they gave her the flag all folded so perfectly, she was solemn. But did she know he was gone? Did she get the significance?
This is my mom at 98 years old celebrating Halloween 2014. She could do a mean witch cackle and my brother and I always made her do it for our friends. She pretended that she didn’t want to do it, but she loved it. It was really scary!
In the next few years she would ask about her husband. “Is Stevie coming home? When is Stevie coming home?” I never felt like lying to her, but I didn’t want to make her sad by telling her he was never coming home. Usually, I just looked at her and hesitated long enough. “He’s dead isn’t he?” she’d say.
“Yes, Mom. But we loved him so much and we remember what a great man he was, don’t we? He was such a good grandpa for the boys, wasn’t he?” It was then I would remind her of the good times we shared with him. It made me feel better to talk about my memories, but I never could tell if it gave her anything. What was going on in her mind?
Posing with a statue at the University of Washington in the early 90s.
Yes, we look alike.
My brother and me with Mom on her 80th birthday!
Mom loved Abby so much.
Dementia is cruel. It takes away one’s quality of life, interrupting memory and cognitive abilities. Sometimes I would lose patience with Mom. She’d ask the same questions over and over. Sometimes within minutes, the same question, the same answer. She began to make repetitive humming sounds that drove us somewhat crazy. At one point in her decline she sang a certain song over and over.
Bill Grogan’s goat,
was feeling fine.
Ate three red shirts,
from off the line.
Bill took a stick,
gave him a whack,
And tied him to,
the railroad track.
The whistle blew,
the train grew nigh;
Bill Grogan’s goat,
was doomed to die.
He gave three moans,
of awful pain,
Coughed up the shirts,
and flagged that train.
It’s funny the first time, but when we’d push her in her wheel chair around the neighborhood in order to get her some fresh air and different scenery, she’d sing that part of the song over and over. “Enough with the goat, Mom,” I’d tell her and try to get her to sing something else. Anything else. “She’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes!”
But soon she was back singing Bill Grogan’s Goat. Arghhh. But one day she stopped singing it. Just stopped. The repetitive humming increased though. I read about this compulsive or recurring behavior in people with Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia symptoms. According to some experts, this may be a simple form of communication for them or a behavior “covering up” their failing vocabulary. It can try a person’s patience. Trying to redirect her might stop her, but it didn’t work for long. Sometimes it’s not the big things about caring for your loved one, it’s the little things that make you weary.
2018–Ready to be pushed around the block. Our trusty care-giver liked to dress her up for the activity. So sweet.
2017 with oldest grandson Cameron, and his wife, Riki.
Easter 2018
Being silly again!
Abby and Mom taking a nap on the lounge chair outside on the patio quite a few years back..
Our son and his wife lived with Mom for over ten years, making it possible for her to stay at home. They did all the shopping, cooking, and attended to all the details for her so she could be in her comfortable cocoon of home. We hired a company to provide care-giving and they did two shifts a day, which included massaging her legs twice a day too. But our “kids” made it all possible. They endured everything with efficiency and grace, and kept Mom as happy as she could be. It’s a big reason they adopted a dog–to be Mom’s companion. The gift of their love and devotion is priceless. We are the fortunate ones.
The sign reads: My Mama is for Obama. My favorite photo.
However, in the end it was necessary to move Mom to a bed and care facility. She fell and broke her hip, requiring surgery. The woman who normally came to be with Mom had a day off, and the replacement worker did not follow the protocol to leave Mom in her hospital bed with the rails up when her shift was over. Instead, she left her in the massage chair in the living room, and moved the wheel chair out of her way. Too far out of her way. Struggling to get into her wheelchair, Mom fell. We saw the whole thing on video from the interior cameras my brother had installed years ago.
Our son got home from work five minutes after she fell according to the video recording. He took all the right actions and got her an ambulance. He called me immediately and I was on a plane the next day.
Because of Mom’s strong heart and overall health, she came through the surgery like a champ. The doctor explained to me that almost one out of 10 people over the age of 50 will die within a month of surgery for a broken hip. In Mom’s case, they were not going to try to rehab her, because of her advanced age (102) and being wheel chair bound pre surgery.
While in the hospital I signed forms to require the medical staff to provide only “comfort care.” Even though this was within the parameters of her health directive, it was difficult for me. I called my brother, and he said, “You are the one who is there. You make the decisions and I will be fine with whatever you decide.” Okay, and I think that with love I will do the best I can.
Now because she needed 24/7 care, I had to make other important decisions. Was hospice necessary? Where does she go to live now? How much does it cost? How will she react? My brother and I both talked about how taking her out of her home would be the beginning of the end, though my son reminded me that Mom always talked about wanting to go home.
At this point in her life she wasn’t clear about where she was some of the time. And as it turned out, even though she came home after surgery, she gave no outward indication of distress when the ambulance came to transport her to her new “home.” They transferred her to the bed and care place I had secured for her. It was only a two minute walk from her house to this new residence where the caregivers provided all she would need. They would do everything for her—adjust her position every two to three hours so as to avoid bed sores, be mindful of post surgical hip precautions, change her diapers, keep her clean and fed. These were things we family members had been doing round the clock. My husband came for a week and helped with all those things. Our oldest son and his wife came too, and everyone pitched in. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t pretty, but we did it without hesitation.
In the bed and care residence she had her own private room. It was one of six private rooms in an old house that had a living room, dining area, and kitchen where they prepared everyone’s meals. She would get the needed 24/7 supervision.
Our wonderful caregiver visits Mom in the Bed and Care.
A day or so at home before she was transferred to Bed and Care.
Because of our naiveté at the time, we didn’t understand that she would never get out of bed again. At the time we hoped for more recovery. We filled her little room with her chest of drawers and her TV and photos of family. We brought her books and her CDs and her CD player and one of her small music boxes that played, “Somewhere my Love,” from Dr. Zhivago. She loved music and it was easy to provide her with that familiar comfort.
My daughter-in-law always decorated for holidays for Mom, and it was February 1st, close to Valentine’s Day, so we took those decorations over to her room as well. I put up a pretty scarf of Mom’s on the closet doors so she could see something besides a big beige closet door from her bed, and I put the quilt my brother had made for her on her bed. It was as good as it could be.
I went home after 24 days, but feeling as if I had deserted her. The guilt was palpable. My son reassured me. My husband did too. In my head I understood my guilt was unnecessary, but my heart was breaking. It was the toughest thing I’ve ever done. But in reality, the toughest thing was yet to come.
I went back to be with her for her 103rd birthday on March 16, 2019. I planned to get her closet cleaned out and her clothes and knickknacks donated to Good Will while I was there for three days. It was a let-down when we went to see her on her birthday. She was barely aware when we brought her a few gifts and blackberry pie with one lighted candle, and sang Happy Birthday. We did get a little smile out of her though.
The next day, Sunday, she seemed better, more alert, recognizing us. Talking a little. She smiled for me when I snapped her photo with my phone. She hugged her little teddy bear and seemed almost happy.
But on Monday the 18th of March around 10:00AM I got an urgent call from the caregiver. “Come right now.” My adrenaline kicked in making my heart race. When I got there I could see the difference. She was obviously in the first stages of dying. The nurse was there and she talked with me about the signs, what to expect. It could be hours, days, or weeks, but it would be soon. I cancelled my flight home.
That very day, everyone in the family was able to say good-bye, either in person or on the phone. All six of her grandchildren and two of her great grandchildren spoke of their love for her. She couldn’t talk at all, but I could see in her face, her eyes, that she heard us. Each one of the grandchildren spoke of their love. My husband, my brother, all of us were able to tell her how much we appreciated her, loved her. What a blessing.
Staying with Mom as she went through all the stages of dying was as I said, bittersweet. Our hospice team’s goal of keeping her comfortable, clean, and pain free gave us the freedom to minister to her in more personal ways.
Mom was no longer able to swallow, so eating and drinking was out of the question. Even as she progressed through the predictable journey to death, it was precious to be holding her hand, giving her reassurance and “permission” to go.
My daughter-in-law, the pup, and I were there when the hospice team Chaplin came (with our permission) to give her a blessing and say a prayer. He sang “Amazing Grace” in English and in Cherokee (he’s part Cherokee). He told her, “When God calls you, you can go.”
They say that hearing is the last thing to go. So I read to her, sang to her, and told her how she had been such a good mother, grandmother, sister, and daughter. I shared examples of mothering when my brother and I were growing up and how she had been so dedicated to us, giving us dancing and music lessons, teaching us important things about life, taking us to museums, plays, to our activities, and providing for our happy lives together. For the most part she was a single mother who worked and arranged an idyllic childhood for my brother and me. She was a strong and beautiful, smart woman.
Just arrived at her new residence.
My brother and me with Mom when I was only a few months old. Mom was 30 in March of 1946, and I was born in October 1946. It was unusual for a woman of her generation to have a child so late in life.
And so it was that starting the 18th, when hospice began sending nurses and LVNs and care-givers to do 8 hour shifts, we knew the end was near. They stayed with her, changing her diapers, checking her vitals, giving her medicine to help dissolve the secretions (which seems a nice word for mucous that was causing her to choke). The nurse kept me informed of all the signs and what they meant, so I would not be surprised, I suppose, when the inevitable happened. If I wasn’t in her room, they called me on the phone with updates. Hospice was beyond wonderful.
On the day she died I sat with her for eight hours. In a way it may have seemed desperate, even macabre. But it was important to me to see that she wasn’t alone. Holding her hand I sang “The Lord’s Prayer” and “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” along with Andrea Bocelli on the CD compilation I had made for her.
You can hear him sing these here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPizIaBPhSg
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEplqV0scyo
I read to her a section “On death” from one of her favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. It wasn’t surprising that she had underlined the last stanza:
For what is it to die but to stand naked
in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to
free the breath from its restless tides,
that it may rise and expand and seek
God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence
shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top,
then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then shall you truly dance.
Soon the secretions were too much for the medicine to handle and she had to be suctioned with aid of a simple machine. All of this was for Mom’s comfort, but it worked to comfort me as well. I hated listening to the telltale rattle of her labored breathing that is caused when a dying person is no longer be able to swallow, cough, or otherwise clear saliva and mucus from the back of the throat.
If we saw a grimace, she was given more morphine. She could have it every two hours or as needed. The way you knew if she needed it was her body language and her grimace. Most of the time every two to four hours seemed sufficient. I was uncomfortable with how her body was twitching. The nurse assured me that Mom was not in pain from it, and I didn’t see any indication that it bothered her, but it unnerved me. The twitching stopped after the first day, but the secretions increased rapidly. When the nurse pulled up Mom’s eyelids she pointed out how glassy they looked. This, and dilated pupils, signal death is near. Her eyes were somewhat open, and tearing occasionally too.
At 4:00 in the afternoon I couldn’t hold my vigil any longer. I needed a break. Some food possibly, but at least some kind of break. I went back to the house. Both my son and daughter-in-law were there. They talked with me a bit about their grandma and about half hour later they decided to take their dog over to see her. The dog had been a big part of Mom’s life and she loved her dearly. It went both ways. I went back with them. We only stayed a short time.
Around 6:30PM I decided to hurry to Costco to pick up my prescription. They closed at 7:00 so I was in a hurry. I would just make it. But I got a phone call a few blocks from the house. I pulled over to park by the lake where Mom used to walk every day. It was the nurse. Mom was gone. I called my daughter-in-law’s number and told her Mom died, and asked them to meet me there. I got there first, they were right behind me.
I was crying so hard, and all I could think about was holding her. The hospice nurse and the woman from the bed and care were in the room. I knelt down by the bed and told them, “I want to hold her.” I picked her up slightly and held her in my arms. The mother I loved all my life wasn’t in that body I was holding. That was obvious to me. I don’t remember if I said anything, but I felt, more than heard, her body’s last gurgle. Her color was fading quickly as I gently laid her back down. The only thing I felt for certain in those moments was my own selfish pain. Her wish, her prayer that God take her, was answered at last. She lived for 103 years, but it didn’t matter to me that it was such a long time. It was just too unbearable to think of her being gone.
The next thing I remember is my son encouraging me to go outside and look up into the sky. “It’s beautiful out there.” His wife was at Mom’s bedside. The day before she had brought a vase of red roses from the garden. Now she was placing the rose petals all over Mom’s bedclothes, arranging and rearranging them. Their sweet dog jumped up onto the bed and was lying next to Mom, just as she had done for so many years. This made me gasp for breath it was so sweet. My son was taking it all in from the foot of the bed. It was a beautiful scene, but heart-wrenching to witness their good-byes.
I went outside and looked to the sky. There were so many clouds; some dark and foreboding, others with the last light of day pouring through. It was beautiful, just like my wise son had said, but it couldn’t stop my tears, even as I realized how my sweet mama would now be able to truly dance again.
memories memories memories memories memories memories memories memories memories
With our new puppy almost 7 years ago. I used to show her this picture a lot to remind her that she had met Isabela back then. Her memory of it had flown away with a lot of other memories.
Mom and me in January 2010
Mom with our son Matt and his wife, Jane, and the finest care-givers, our son Courtney and his wife, Myles.
Her last day and she was so peaceful.
Floy Bly Nichols Stephens lived 103 years and 4 days. Rest in Peace, Mama. We will keep you in our hearts and minds forever.
May this holiday season be free of strife and full of love and happiness for all. Blessings abound and as this year ends we are reminded of how much we have for which to be thankful.
Jingle all the way!
The Baja is a special place for sure. I’ve written many a time about the splendor that is The Baja. We haven’t been the only ones who have known this, but it seems that now the entire world is looking for a cool spot to settle in and enjoy retirement or a second home or some such thing. Not just us. Sigh. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. What a selfish person I am.
I guess if you are thinking that, you are somewhat correct in your assumption. I would prefer that nobody else moved here. I loved how “sleepy” our little area was when we moved here eight years ago. But, time marches on and things change. A lot. Okay, so I get it. I don’t have rights to say it should stay “sleepy” and I can’t afford to buy up all the land to keep it natural. After all, I bought and built. Why can’t other people do the same? Well, they can. And they are.
And no wonder. It is beautiful here.
The Sierra de La Laguna Peak
The turtles aren’t having as good a year this year because the ocean washed most of the nests away. But I’ve seen two hatchings and got a video of a couple of the babies (out of about 100) on their way to their ocean life.
Hatching 12-14-2018
It’s always a thrill to witness these babies heading into the sea. Like watching the sunset every night, I never get tired of it. Early this morning the moon was over the water and dipping into the clouds. The moon show was worth being out at 6AM.
Moon set 12-22-2018
The simple pleasures of living here give me reason to be grateful for this place. But now we’ve been discovered BIG TIME. Once we were the only people on our road who were here in the summer months. It gets humid in July through September (September is pretty horrible). But we love the summer because it’s so quiet again when everybody goes on their merry ways back to their “other” lives. This summer was anything but quiet.
There were five places being built at one time…all within ear shot and sight. There were more than five places being built in our area, but some of them I can’t see from our house. The growth that was once gradual, has exploded.
The construction this summer was relentless. The noise was bothersome, as was the construction debris all over our roads. We had two flat tires from it. The number of vehicles parked all over our neighborhood doubled and tripled on occasion. It all took away from the peaceful, easy feeling I usually have.
Guess I have a lot of growing to do myself in order to embrace the population growth. I do a lot of work on myself, but sometimes I let it all out. It just gets to me. Selfish? Want to keep it to ourselves? Yup. Guilty on all counts.
So I have to start teaching myself about what’s truly important and how I can remain grateful for everything.
Watching the whales breach and blow can help. Seeing the rays jumping out of the water is always a treat too. Often we spot a pod of dolphins and lots of baitfish in the water. We are treated to gorgeous sunrises and sunsets and we have many wonderful friends.
Sunset
Sunrise
Rojo Pequeño, Little Red, takes us on adventures.
Olive Ridley covering her nest in 2017 on “our beach”
One year there were lots of seahorses that washed up onto local beaches.
As seen from my deck.
A woodpecker enjoys the sun.
Rays jumping
I’m going to end today with a photo of a little kid who was playing on the rocks at the beach. If I had grandchildren I know they would love it here like this little boy does.
I don’t know this child, but he reminded me of my youngest when he was this age.
I’ll keep focusing on the natural beauty, and what I can learn from all the new people who are coming here to enjoy paradise too. The more things change, the more they stay the same.