These pics are about my journey with my mother's illness and death

I added this pic today (3/31) It's called Windows: In An Easterly Direction. This is actually a door in the breakfast nook.  There was once a window there. I don't know how to keep adding in this thread, so everything looks botched up, but maybe I will get it all figured out. 

 The first pic is called The Journey Begins

This is the second picture I took of the window above. You can see the forsythia is now blooming. 

I am not sure where my mother got this piece of stained glass. It looks pretty in the laundry room. 

This 4th picture is a poem in picture format. The bronze baby shoe, the shell, and the pinecone. 

No One

 Spent: A Seussian Rhapsody

Do you know how it feels to be spent?

So spent you can't even present?

So spent your very best intention

To smile gets barely a mention

From the Who Is That convention?

So spent you let loose pretention

As you struggle and struggle to pay attention?

So lost your Let Loose loses its fears

And bundles up Bundled apprehension

In sleepy old seeds that wave to and fro

In the tired old breeze. They shed no tears

In the light of the day, but day doesn't know

The ways of the night, and those spent old

Blossoms wave around with some fright

As they ponder the changes that unfold,

Changes for us, the young and the old.

Obit

Full Obit

Joyce Ann Lutz, 84, of Madisonville, KY passed away at Signature Healthcare in Hartford, KY at 5:35 PM on Friday March 5.  In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her husband of 50 years, Artie E. Lutz, Jr, her two sisters, and her beloved nephew, Sonny Robbins. She is survived by her five children, Stephen (Porscha) Lutz of Louisville, KY, Margaret (Robin) Brown of Madisonville, KY, Judy (Chris) Weston of Naples, FL, James (Laura) Lutz of Long Island, NY, and Jason (Faith) Lutz of Owensboro, KY. She is also survived by her seven grandchildren and her six great-grandchildren. 

Joyce was a Master Gardener whose yard was filled in all seasons with beautiful color. She was a member of the Ladies Auxiliary of the VFW for many years and enjoyed cooking great meals for the veterans and their families. She loved painting landscapes, writing haikus, and playing her guitar. She had a gift for memorizing song lyrics and long passages of poetry and prose. She loved seeing her grandchildren and great grandchildren who always made her smile. She also loved the holidays, particularly Christmas, and she would present her family and friends with a table full of holiday goodies.  

 

Nellie

 In a small room in a small Western KY town my dying mother sang part of this song to my husband and me this afternoon.  I have never heard her sing it, and of all the songs she knows, I do not know why this came to her. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Xe8VxCTV8w

Our Children

 Our adult children many times end up doing things professionally that they never thought they would do. My oldest son has a master's in theology. Things took a drastically different turn for him in life, and he sells cars now for a large dealership. His life in ministry was so important and such a special part of his life that I was very concerned that he would have a hard time making the changes he had to make, but I feel he is happy selling cars, and he is good at it and making tons more money than he likely ever would have teaching or working in some capacity in the church. That does not mean I did not have many sleepless nights worrying for him and about him. I would venture to say I had more than he had, and sometimes that may have been because he could talk to me about it and go to sleep. Sometimes, that is all you can do as a parent. Listen to your child and hope they rest that night because they were able to unload their fears, worries, and despair.

My daughter finished undergrad school with a bachelor's in English. She applied to grad school at Trinity University in Dublin, Ireland and was accepted. She sold her car, left her friends and family, and made her way to Ireland to get a master's in English. Less than two weeks into her Ireland life, she called me and said her anxiety was so severe that she did not think she could stay in Ireland. She wanted to come home, but she did not want to disappoint her family and friends and everyone who believed so much in her. She was so panic-stricken that I called my brother in NYC and asked if he would fly to Ireland to bring her home. He agreed to do so, but he did not have to do so. She made it home. When she got back to the states, she got a job at a domestic violence shelter. She was the advocate and worked the hotline. She decided to get her master's in social work, which she did as she continued to work at the shelter helping the women and children of domestic violence. Part of her master's program required an internship, which she did at the Tennessee Prison For Women. She learned so much from that experience, and she gave so much. Her journey would take me a little while, so I will cut it short. Today, she is a Professor in Infectious Diseases. Her PhD is in Social Work, and her dissertation was about Intimate Partner Violence and its affect on women in South Africa. She traveled there and established a mobile clinic. Until her recent appointment as a research professor, she was the director of behavioral care for a leading HIV/AIDS center. She started college as a dance and theater major, but life had other plans for her.

My youngest child, who is 12 1/2 years behind his brother and 9 1/2 years younger than his sister, works in healthcare management as an advocate. I could not be more proud of the work he is doing, though that is not what he thought he would be doing. He has a double major--a bachelor's in English and a bachelor's in Spanish. He had planned to go to grad school to get his MFA in creative writing, and he also considered translating in court cases and at local shelters who needed some help. He found himself working in healthcare management shortly after graduating from college when no other employment opportunities presented themselves. He hated the politics involved in healthcare management and left it for a few years and worked at an independent eyeglass company in customer relations. When he was only 12 years old, he would go see his sister on the weekends on occasion and assist her and her friends in preparing food for the homeless. One Sunday, he was permitted to be on the food line. That experience has made him a life long activist for the needy and the marginalized. He actively supports any activities in his city linked to helping those in need. He is a tenderhearted young man who lives by his principles.

So, if you don't read anything other than this last paragraph, just know that many many times, your children have dreams and plans for their futures, and those dreams and plans don't reach fruition, but some other dream or plan comes to them, and they find themselves right at home. Just be there to support them in their visions and dreams, and when those don't work out, support them as they embark on a new journey. My best to all of you moms out there. It is an amazing journey, being a mom, with many sleepless and worry-filled nights, but also with so many reasons to celebrate and be proud and hopeful for them and the future. Thanks for asking this question. I think these things about my children often, but I never write about them.

Molly poem, revised from 2007

 For This Day

She tries to catch the crescent

moon in her teeth, this bird

dog crazy red girl, snapping

at air and wind. The geese come

suddenly, while she's in the midst

of her moon chasing scheme,

and throw her off for a moment,

ears perk and front paw lifts--

the expected actions of her breed.

I watch her as I walk past

headstones and mud puddles,

smile in spite of myself, lift

my own front leg in momentary

abandon of reason. I want to be one

with this world as she is, this red

beauty who wrecks my house,

who knocks my friends down,

who readily forgives. I want to love

that freely, want to want that openly,

want to forget being human

for a day. I want to jump in the middle

of the muck right with her,

drink from the dirty water, smell

woodsy and whole. The crescent

is our compass as we leave

the cemetery, her fur matted and wet,

my t-shirt drenched in sweat. We

have lived for those few moments,

have accepted one another, have balanced

ourselves in the chilly autumn air,

and, for this day, it is enough.

Can't be.

 I can't be this old and still be this lost.  And, I can't be this young to be so old.