House chapter

It's funny how that house was my house for 8 years, but it seems so in the past to me now.

When I walked through yesterday, I could see my girls running, playing, dancing. I could see birthday parties and Christmas trees.

I am grateful for it...I stood there on my own, but with support from family and friends.

When I walk through my new home, I already remember my daughters here. I can see parties and Christmas trees to come.

I am grateful...to stand next to Skip.

Gratitude Journal

I'm reading a book that suggests a gratitude journal. So, I'm thinking about spending a little bit of time on that and a little less web-surfing. Of course, this gratitude journal is strictly selfish. The gist is that if you give gratitude that you will in turn feel better about yourself. So, to start things off as honestly as possible, I give gratitude for me! Because I am absolutely awesome.

Uncle Harold...It was time.

Uncle Harold passed away sometime before 5 a.m. (It was time.) When my Mother called to tell me, I knew what the early morning call was. Fr. Bill was there last night to provide Last Rites. I am glad that he was able to make it on Ash Wednesday.

I stopped to visit Uncle Harold yesterday for just about 5 minutes or so. It seemed like a long time. It was strange that his chair in the living room was empty. He couldn't get out of bed yesterday. For a lifetime gentleman farmer not to get out of bed in the morning, you know something is different. I met two Hospice workers and his caregiver, and my Mom and my Aunt were there.

I didn't have much time. (It was time.)

In his home hospital bed, Uncle Harold was curled on his right side facing the wall...to the north. My Mom started to tell me that Fr. Bill would be coming and something that the Hospice ladies had said. Uncle Harold "said" something. It was audibly something between a mumble and a grunt, but I knew it had to have been something witty. He had humor to the end. I said to him, "Oh, it's all right," and he quieted. He could hear us; I know it.

When the Hospice workers were getting ready to go, my Mom left the room to see them out.

I had some things to say, but I could not say it all. I have always been cheerful and entertaining with Uncle Harold. I did not want him to hear the tears in my voice. I leaned over Uncle Harold and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Harold, I love you." His change in breathing and physical reaction told me that he heard. I said that I couldn't stay, that Soph was in the Jeep waiting to go to music, and I started for the door. Then I turned around, touched his shoulder, and said, "We will meet again." He relaxed.

You see, for years, when I left a visit, I would say, "See you later!" and he would retort, "Are you sure?"

Uncle Harold is 96 years old. Or is that was now? (It was time.)

He was 52 years old when I was born. I am 44. He lived a whole lifetime before I knew him, and then he lived another.

I remember...

...him throwing me up into the air and catching me.
...standing over the heat register at the Farm.
...swerving toward me in his truck when I was walking down the road.
...driving the tractor while I sat on the wheel fender.
...standing in my Mom's living room doorway every night around 6 p.m. for a visit.
...him jumping out of the red International truck to pick up rocks while I "drove" it.
...ushering for years with my Dad at church.
...living next door for as long as I can remember.
...his calm, his wit, his laughter.

He was a good, gentle, sweet man.

I might seem like a good niece. I would once in a while stop and visit him in the morning before I would go to work. But in reality, I was stopping for me. He was so funny, so calm, had such a sweet demeanor. He would, without trying or even knowing, give me a better attitude, a happier start to my day when perhaps I was feeling overwhelmed or angry about something in my life.

What else I wanted to say, but could not: I have fond memories of you, and I will remember you, and I will miss you. But...

(It was time.)

Mother

A family poem copied and shared here to tell my cousin Patty how much I love her!

Amid anxiety, pain and fear,
She gave us life that we hold dear,
She watched us open baby eyes
And crooned us restful lullabies.
Our moods and smiles she understood
And saw us pass from babyhood
Into the realm of budding years
With mingled joy and pride and tears.

She taught us little words and talk
And coached us as we learned to walk,
She kissed our little bumps and aches
And eased our hearts of fancied breaks,
Our way she smoothed with doting care,
As climbed upward life's great stair
And gazed in awe at all the world,
As, lo its wonder were unfurled.

Then, as in years we older grew,
Her guiding hand was present, too,
And when our urge arrived to mate
And build a home beyond her gate,
She sat alone with memories
Of romping tots and pleasantries.
And then, content--her life complete
She journeyed on, her God to meet.

by: Henry James Mullen

This poem was presented with the compliments of the author, on the occasion of his 90th Birthday on July 20, 1969.

Henry was my Mother's Mother's Brother or Patty's Father's Mother's Brother.

When Patty said how she missed her Mom today, I thought of Sandy's heartfelt laugh, and then I thought of Patty's Dad, my Uncle Bob and how he laughed and called me Little Mary. I have many memories of Uncle Bob sitting in his wheelchair on the farm porch, which made me think of my one memory of Uncle Henry, sitting in a wheelchair on the porch at the farm.I just knew that Uncle Henry must have written a poem about Mothers, because we Barths...we love our Moms! No matter what happens in this world, the lives of family intertwine and mingle and our spirits dance around in our hearts forever joining us, healing us, being a part of us.

Absentee Blogger Ballott

This blogger has been absent, because:

a. she fell down a hill.
b. she fell off the grid.
c. she fell into a movie.
d. she fell in love.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the heart growing fonder makes the blogger go absent. I am so much in love that I haven't had to blog. Blogging gave me a chance to speak my mind and my heart to someone who would listen, but now I have a real live man who listens to me, who loves me, who laughs with me. I never in a million years believed that such a wonderful man existed. He makes me be better. And that's a difficult task, because I was darn good to begin.

Autism: Lancet Rant

Friend: I am not taking one side or another, but do you know anything about the Lancet?
Mary: sure...I know all about it.
Friend: what do you know about it
Mary: world's leading general medical journal
Friend: well there are lots of different ones, but when I was in Neurology it was really respected. I just want to make sure you know it is not just a tabloid. It goes back and rechecks research and is one of the few that will say "Hey we made a mistake with analyzing the research" I cant imagine sometimes your life Mary, but try to keep an open mind. I had physicians - some of which I really respected - others that I mocked - that swore by the research it reports.
Friend: Different specialties of the Lancet http://www.thelancet.com/
Mary: I know all about the Lancet.
Mary: so in another 10 years, when they come back and say someone else paid for the research to discredit Wakefield. what then?
Mary: research is big business
Mary: autism is now becoming big business
Mary: it's not business
Mary: it's my life
Friend: I am sorry Mary. I just wanted to try to give you information. That's all. I didn't mean to get you upset.
Friend: I understand your life.
Mary: You didn't upset me. I already posted it on my facebook earlier today.
Mary: that autism is becoming chic (HBO movie) and the business of controversy (doctors blaming parents and parents blaming doctors) angers me
Mary: all the research does is try to place blame...
Mary: and none of that helps my Sophie
Friend: Oh, I agree. why do drs. blame parents... what possibly?
Mary: for the most part...doctors have god complexes or at the very least huge egos
Mary: and the nice ones? they don't want to hurt people...that's not why they became doctors.
Friend: Of course
Mary: so, they can't conceive that the vaccines are harmful
Friend: They are trained to trust
Mary: Have you gotten a shot lately? Have you read ALL that could go wrong? So, why can't they believe that something perhaps they don't know about could also go wrong?
Friend: When they are in med school, they don't know the chaos of the research. They evolve when they go through their residencies and internships and fellowships. And the drug companies are the biggest sinners. Someday, you'll know my path.
Friend: I got my yrly flu and the HINI.
Friend: but believe, me I am counting on a higher power to change things. The FDA is the biggest sinner on the planet
Mary: I got the Hep shots before going to Punta Cana...I could not let my Mom read all that could go wrong. I could feel that stuff going through me.
Friend: Well, you survived. I am proud of you! The contaminants have exited by now and you wouldn't have that time with your sister....
Friend I'll let you go, as always, I am praying for you and your beautiful family!
Mary: I know! Same goes for you!

Monday de-Motivation

How do I get motivated?

For a while there, my alarm would ring, and I would jump out of bed, put the dog out and in, and then walk for 30 minutes on the treadmill, do some chores, and then get the girls and me ready for our days. Now, I can barely get out of bed. I have both my regular alarm and my phone alarm set each weekday morning. I never used to sleep in on the weekends. And yet, I make it a point to go to Mass on Saturday evenings, just so I can sleep in another day. (I guess getting to Mass is a good thing though.)

I think that I'm just worn out. 43 years and worn out. Really? Uncle Harold is 95, and his body is just now wearing out.

Maybe I need to stop and see him more often. He does provide great insight into a vast number of things. Knowing that I will more than likely not live that long...maybe that should motivate me to do something of worth? something of value?

But then...who would wash the dishes and the laundry and sweep and vacuum and water the plants and feed the dog and the people? I do a lot. Not that I need constant validation, but no one in my current household appreciates anything that I do. It's just expected from both my teen and my autistic. I am there to serve them.