Haibun Monday – the only thing we have to fear…

Today I am hosting the Haibun Monday prompt. It is on fear – fear of things, fear of being out of control, fear of losing loved ones, fear – primal and raw. Come join us today.

My Mother’s Daughter
Several years ago my mother began displaying erratic and irresponsible behavior. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Since then it has been a downhill road – she has forgotten how to walk, often forgets she has not eaten, has become incontinent. It is heartbreaking. Especially as my mother varies between paranoid, hostile towards me, and loving mother. My husband and I have no children. We did not get married until I was 49 and he was 39. It is just us and his mother who is starting to go somewhat erratic herself.

I am afraid when I look at my mother that one day, I will be sitting in a wheelchair, in her place. I will have no one to know or to care about me except maybe a nursing home. I kept her at home as long as I could but then one day, it became evident I could no longer care for my mother. Then I was afraid of the nursing home in which to place her. But praise God, she was sent from being in the hospital to a small nursing home with only 90 beds and ten minutes from our home. I can visit her often and have formed, during her stay there since January, friendships among the staff and caring relationships with some of the residents. But I am still afraid. My past fears of clowns, losing loved ones, spiders – pales in comparison to this new fear of Alzheimers. Alzheimer’s – one of the scariest words in the human vocabulary.

spring sky turns black – storm
begins and wind blows strong – hawk
flies against the wind

dVerse Poets #2 – Halloween: The Attic

This is for the Halloween Poetics on d’Verse Poets Pub.  I have submitted one already but couldn’t resist doing another. Here is the link for the fun at d’Verse:  http://dversepoets.com/2015/10/20/10958/

 

The attic in Bessie’s house was always cold. Even in July when all other attics in the world were housetop ovens, this one was cold.  Bessie was my father’s mother – Grandma Hayes.  She was a tiny, feisty wizened little woman and stronger than an ox.  Even at 80, working in the field, she left grown men behind in her dust.  And her attic was always always cold.  None of us liked going up there for anything.  We’d rock paper scissors and the loser had to go.  Slowly on the up trip, racing down the steps as if the devil were nipping at the heels.  Once, my cousin Tommy and I got into a fight; ugly fight rolling around in the red dirt – noses bleeding, tee shirts ripped.  I lost.

Grandma Hayes’ youngest grandchild died, died in that house one cold rainy Christmas.  One morning she was sniffing and sneezing and whiny – no one could touch her because she ached so badly.  The family doctor was called and came bringing into the small Christmas tree smelling room, the smell of rain and cold.  He said she had a cold and gave her baby aspirin and told her mother to give her another dose at bedtime.  In the morning, she lay still under the covers – cold and blue – her long curly red hair dank over the pillow.  Her sister in bed beside her ran screaming down the attic stairs, ‘”Sandra won’t wake up Sandra won’t wake up Sandra….”.  Up the stairs the adults ran.  Curled into herself, smaller than a terrier puppy, she lay making barely a dent under the quilts.  A few days later she was buried in the family cemetery.  Laid to rest in the red mud, the mud oozing down onto her casket.  The cause of death was an aspirin overdose.  No one knew she had eaten a bottle of the orange flavored baby aspirin for candy a few days before she died.

I lost the fight.  I had to go out of the blazing July heat up into that cold attic to fetch down a jar of watermelon rind pickle.  I stood before the door breathing fast and trying to calm myself.  I grasped the door knob and began the slow ascent of the narrow stairs.  Almost at the top, you could look through the railings and see the bed.  No, I said to myself. No.  I leaned my forehead against the rail and forced my eyes open.  NO NO NO.  Across the dusty pillow was the glint of long curly red hair, picking up the lone sun beam that had strayed through the tattered curtain.  I could not make myself go forward and I was afraid to turn my back.  I panted, almost faint with fear.  Not there not there not there.  I saw her small face.  And then, she opened her eyes.

Summer heat becomes
frost and fear – the scariest
ghost stories are real.

 

free public domain

free public domain

Guest Blogger – SamCat: Hidin’ from Friday 13!!!!!

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

I heard my mom, my upright Sakura talking to my Daddy Braddy about a friend of hers who has a phobia about Friday the 13th – triskadekaphobia…man, that’s a mouthful with change left over!

They got into a discussion about it and mom broke down the Greek words that formed it.  My upright Sakura apparently has studied several languages including yogurt language (I loves me some strawberry greek yogurt) and the beer language – he brew.

But anyway, they also talked about some mean ugly movies with that name too – Friday 13th.  I think there’s a zillion of them.  That’s scary that people would want to watch such ugly movies, don’t you think?

But it made me nervous thinking of a day that just because of its name is bad luck.  I’ve had enough bad luck in my short life without making a special day for it.  Mom was doing laundry and I snuck into the room for that and saw a basket of upright clothing in a basket.  I didn’t think twice – I jumped up and burrowed to the bottom.  I was going to hide from Friday 13.

My upright Sakura came in and saw me.  She pulled me out and snuggled me up close.  “Whatsa matter SamCat? Huh?  Scared?”  and I nuzzled up close feeling all safe.  She says, “I know Daddy Braddy and I were talking about some scary things, but really, Friday 13 is just another day, like Friday 12.  And besides, Friday 13 is a lucky good day – it is the day you came home with me.”

I snuggled closer and began to purr.  I wanted her to know that I wasn’t scared anymore.  Friday 13 was a lucky day for me because my upright Sakura came and rescued me and asked me if I wanted to come home with her.  So after listening to her talk yogurt talk to Daddy Braddy, I guess I have changed to a triskadekaphile!  Any day is what you make it, regardless of the date.  Everyday now is special for me.  And I’ll bet if you think about it really hard, besides those bad days, you have some good ones too!

I’ll talk to you later.  I’m off to play with a new catnip mouse!!!

I Go To Extremes: Rollercoaster of Life

I think I’m going to call June and July The Months of Extremes.  I’ve been energized and exhausted. Happy and Heartbroken, Sane and Depressed, Sharp as a katana and numb as a cube of ice.

I started the day off elated.  got my mid-term exams results and aced them.  Twenty minutes later, anxious and sad – a call my 84 year old mother was admitted to the hospital yesterday and tons of tests being run.  She’s in Florida, I’m up here.

So I’m milling around my kitchen cooking like a crazy tornado lady – when sad/anxious/depressed/afraid – I cook.
This song came on the radio and hit the nail on the head – I Go To Extremes….don’t know what’s ahead at this point. I just know it is another round on the rollercoaster of life.

 

 

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