Posted in poetry, postaday, writing

Hidden Pain ~~~ A Poem

Hidden Pain

 

She looks but doesn’t see

the hurt she dishes out with words

careless words spoken without thought

she doesn’t care

 

He agrees to everything

the anger stays hidden deep inside

words are not spoken for hours, days, weeks, years

Yet, he doesn’t miss the hurt the child receives

 

The small heart is broken, shattered, torn

words spoken so carelessly taken so far deep inside

tears fall silently, never seen by the woman who caused them

never-failing to try to make her change her mind

 

A woman hurting, even after a lifetime

wondering again as the hurt resurfaces countless times

tears falling inside to wet the damaged soul

asking the same old question that never got answered

 

Why did she dislike me so?

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, His Days (about the husband), Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, Stories of my life, writing

Learning Compassion

oldmansil

 

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I do the daily dishes. I’m worried about him, as he hasn’t eaten in a couple of days. He has hardly moved from his bed in the same amount of time.

I know I can’t nag him to eat. I’ve tried that in the past and it just makes us both miserable. I feel bad because the other day he asked for something special to eat and I had to tell him no. Not because I wouldn’t cook it because we had no money to buy it to cook. He didn’t seem to understand when I explained it to him.

He doesn’t understand lots of things now. It saddens me, but I have learned not to let it linger in my mind. It’s not his fault. It’s the fault of his medications. The strong pain pills he takes several times a day. They have robbed him of his sharp mind like the pain has robbed him of his appetite, his focus, his ability to function like he used to.

When we moved into this 30-year-old mobile home almost 2 years ago. We decided to put his twin size bed in the living room. He loves his TV, but the couch was too uncomfortable for him to lay on all day. So we got rid of the old loveseat and put in a twin bed we got for free. It has worked out well. The TV gives him something to do.

I watch him as I do the dishes. I see the deep furrows of pain on his face. I wish I could do something more for him but I know I can’t. Soon his afternoon pills will take effect, his eyes will gloss over, the furrows won’t be quite so deep. For a little while.

I finish the last dish, put it in the dish rack to air dry, wipe my hands and make myself another cup of coffee. I’ve been in the kitchen for 45 minutes and not a word was spoken between him and I. Just the sound of the TV going and the clink of dishes being cleaned.

I walk down the hall to my office and sit down with my coffee cup in  hand. Taking small sips, I think about the last time we spoke to each other. Was it yesterday? Or the day before? I lay my head back and close my eyes. We don’t speak much anymore. I’ve learned to accept it. As I’ve learned to accept a lot of things the last few years.

I could sink into a pool of self-pity, but why? It’s not his fault he became disabled, so racked with pain that taking a simple shower has to be planned ahead of time, just so the pain will be somewhat manageable.

I could rage at the universe and cry an ocean of tears. Again, why? The universe is not to blame for the circumstances that made us lose our home and come to live in a broken down trailer. It’s a roof over our heads and heat in the winter.

I could rail against it all. I have in the past, I won’t lie about that. I’m human, with faults. So, I railed against something him and I had no control over. I cried, I felt sorry for myself. Worse of all, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from the pain. His pain and mine. I wanted to run fast and as far as I could. Half way across the world.

I didn’t run. I couldn’t run. I won’t run.

Instead, I learned compassion. Compassion for him. He doesn’t want to be in this much pain. Every single day, every single minute, to live in pain. Who would want that? So I find my compassion for him. My patience. My desire to help ease his suffering if I can. Which I can’t.

I can only help him suffer less. I will settle for that.

I have also learned to have compassion for myself. That was the hardest part. To be gentle with myself as much as I am gentle with him. I make mistakes, I lose my temper, I get frustrated, I get depressed. It’s ok to feel all these things. I will NOT beat myself up over having these feelings because they never last. I can’t let them. I won’t let them. I feel them and then I let them go without the guilt.

I open my eyes, sip my coffee and keep an ear out for him as I face my computer and do what I know I’m good at. Writing words.

I write the words I cannot speak out loud. I write the words that my soul feels. I write the words that I have learned. I write my heart. That’s how I learn compassion all over again.

 

 

 

Posted in His Days (about the husband), Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, Stories of my life

One of His Bad Days

oldmansil

 

I’ve just finished putting my hair in its usual hassle free ponytail when I hear a crash in the living room. It’s followed by a loud moan. I hurry out of the room to find him laying on the floor, no cane to be seen.

I bend over him and ask him if he hurt anything. No, he moans. I reach for and grab one arm, gently as I can, I lift him to his feet. It’s easily done, the lifting of him. Too easy for a man who is 5′ 11. I shouldn’t be able to lift him I think to myself, as I slowly lead him back to his bed. I’m only 5 feet tall, I should have a harder time lifting him off the floor. But I don’t.

He sits on the side of the bed and I look him over, making sure he hasn’t hurt anything. I see some bleeding on one arm and take a closer look. Just a scratch, but the blood is dripping down his arm, so I grab a tissue to put over it to staunch the blood. He bleeds so easily now. The slightest bump, scratch or nick brings blood and later a bruise. His medicine’s fault.

I ask him what happened. He tells me in his gravelly voice that he only needed to use the bathroom. He was on his way back when he tripped over the rug and fell. Where is your cane, I ask him. He forgot it in the bathroom. I go and get it and put it next to his bed where he can reach it.

It is the start of a bad day.

I’m in my office, working on the computer when I hear a crash come from the kitchen. Oh no! Not again! I rush down the hallway and turn the corner to the kitchen and find him on his back on the floor, his head against a cabinet door. He is trying to turn over on his knees, but can’t seem to do so. I put my hand out so he can grab it and once again, lift him to his feet.

He is angry. At himself. He was reaching into the fridge for a drink when he lost his balance and just fell backwards he tells me. He angrily asks why can’t he just stand up without falling?! I look into his dilated eyes, they are huge with the effects of his pain drugs and full of frightened anger. They shouldn’t be that dilated and my heart drops.

I calmly ask him what pills did he take. He doesn’t seem to understand the question. I lead him to his bed, again, and ask him what else did he take besides his pain meds. He jerks his arm out of my hand and says nothing. I look at the shelf where he keeps his things and find some empty pill bottles.

Dammit, I must have overlooked some pills in his bathroom. I pick them up and look at the labels.

I hear him moan and he tells me he just wants the pain to go away for a while. I read the labels on the now empty vials and see it’s antibiotics and other pain med. How many did he take? He doesn’t remember. I hand him a bottle of water and tell him to drink. Now, I’m worried. I ask him if he’s tired. No, he says, he’s hurting too much to go to sleep.

In my mind, I’m relieved. If he isn’t tired and doesn’t want to sleep, he isn’t too bad. Not too many pills are in his system, I hope.

 

I pocket the vials and make sure he’s settled once more. As I go back to my office, I throw the empty pill vials in the trash and check his bathroom for anymore missed pills. Finding none, I sit back down in my office chair. Tears are wanting to flow, but I know I can’t let them. If I start, I won’t stop. I can’t do it.

Twice more that day, I hear crashing and run to pick him up off the floor. Then the pills wear off and he’s better. I’m exhausted from worry, but thankful at the end of the day he is just scratched slightly, otherwise he seems ok.

Me, I’ve hurt my knee. To find out later that week at the doctor’s that I have pulled a ligament in my knee. The doctor doesn’t ask how I did it. I don’t offer him any information.

I just think, he had one of his bad days.

 

( I pulled a ligament in my knee about 8 months ago. This is how I did it. I don’t blame him. I blame the pain. I’m better now. He’s still in pain. We go on.)

 

 

 

Posted in Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, writing

Today He is Eating

oldmansil

 

My fingers hesitate on the keyboard as I hear slow, slipper covered feet, shuffling down the hallway. The distinct tap…. tap….. tap of his cane heralds his approach. His emancipated frame barely fills the doorway to my room.

I look up from my computer as his soft, gravelly voice tells me that he is going to make a sandwich. I smile and nod as my mind tells me that this is the fifth time in an hour that he has taken the walk from the living room to my room to either ask me an inane question or tell me what his next actions will be. As if seeking my approval.

I watch as he slowly, painfully turns his slight body to walk back down the hallway to the kitchen. His back bent with pain. Today is a good day, I think. At least he is out of bed and eating.

My eyes follow his painful walk. His thin, stick like legs covered in ever-present long johns for warmth. As even in the hottest day of summer he is cold. In the middle of winter, like we are now, he can usually be found huddled in his bed, with a heating pad on his lower back, and an electric blanket tucked around his body.

He is not dressed for fashion, but for warmth and comfort. His long johns are joined with socks, T-shirt, and sweater. If it wasn’t such a sad sight, it would be comical.

I listen to him in the kitchen and know I will have to check in a few minutes to be sure he has turned off the stove after frying his egg for his sandwich. It wouldn’t be the first time he had forgotten to turn the stove off. Or the water taps in the bathroom.

His mind is constantly in a fog nowadays. I know it’s the strong pain medicine he takes. He knows this too, when he remembers.

I get up out of my office chair and walk to the kitchen. I need another cup of coffee, I tell myself. In reality, it’s to check on him. As the coffee pours into my cup from the coffee machine, my eyes glance at the stove. Yes, it is off. But several cupboard doors are open, the utensil drawer too. On the cupboard stands the loaf of bread, open.

I sigh silently, and go about closing doors and drawers. I put the twist tie back on the bread and clean off the counter. At least he is eating today, I tell myself again.

I look into the living room and see him huddled in his bed, eating his egg sandwich. The TV is blaring loud as usual. His deeply furrowed face tells the story of the pain he has carried every single minute of every single day for the past 3 years.

His deep brown eyes are staring at the TV, but I’m not sure he sees it. The eyes are glazed over from the pain medicine. He seems at peace. From experience I know it won’t last long. I’m just thankful that for now, he has the numbness that comes from taking several pills.

If he is real lucky, he will fall asleep for an hour. The pain a demon tamed for now. Soon though that demon will take over once more and I will watch his face twist with the pain. Till it is time for me to give him his next dose of pain pills.

In the beginning, he took care of his own pills, his own schedule of taking them. Then I noticed he was taking more and more pills. Too many. He would run out before he could get some more. Those days the demon rejoiced. Those days were pure hell for him. And for me. As all I could do is watch him cry with pain, wanting and swallowing anything he thought might help. Like a mad junkie, he would scour the bathroom cabinets and take anything he could find in them.

One day, he took too many unknown pills. I had to do something drastic. For his sake. For his life. I removed all the pills I could find. I hid them in my bedroom. Now, I am his caretaker, the giver of pills. We both know it’s for the best, when he remembers.

It’s hard though to watch a man disappear a little each day. Watch him go from a robust, working man, to a waif who can hardly dress himself, in such a short amount of time. Debilitating pain will do that to a person.

So, I listen to his shuffling walk down the hallway. I watch the pain groove deeper furrows in his face. I dole out his pills that give him some brief temporary relief. The demon pain, it’s always there. Lurking, stalking, striking when it can. Tearing off bits of our lives every day, till I know one day it will win this war.

Until that time, I listen to his slow shuffling walk, his soft gravelly voice and am thankful, that today at least he is eating.

 

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Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, poetry, postaday, Stories of my life, writing

I’ve Learned……

lonely

 

I’ve Learned…..

 

I’ve learned, never take your health for granted

it can be gone in a flash

then it’s aches, pains, frustration

as you can’t do what was once so easily done

 

I’ve learned, as I grow older I expect more from me

sometimes though it can’t be delivered

my mind says I’m 20, fit and strong

the body laughs with glee, then throws another pain at me

 

I’ve learned, friends don’t have to be ‘seen’

they live in this virtual machine

I have found some really good people

who reach out to me in my time of need

 

I’ve learned, love is precious, rare and good

it props me up, feeds my needs, makes me stronger

maybe it’s just an emotion, but it feels so much more

as I feel it fuel my desires, wants and hopes

 

I’ve learned, words are powerful, magical, sentient things

they swirl around me, feed my soul, nourish my mind

when they come from friends, afar or near

they make me glad to be alive

 

I’ve learned, that I’m stronger than I knew

life has a way of testing your strength, your reserves

it throws things at you that you never thought you could handle

toughens you up, or breaks you down, but never leaves you the same

 

I’ve learned, 3am is a lonely time in this world,

it’s quiet, still, not yet light, not yet dark time

that in between time when all things are possible or impossible

the doubts come rushing in to keep you company

 

I’ve learned, that an animal’s love in unconditional

they will stick with you through tears, meltdowns,

a pet will kiss your tears away, make you smile

time matters little to them, they just want you happy

 

I’ve learned, stubbornness is not a bad thing to have

this trait can help you over some of the roughest parts of life

I have had to rely on it many times lately

but it has pulled me through and I’m stronger for it

 

I’ve learned many things the past few months

and I have had to teach myself some others

In the end, I’ve found one precious thing

I’ve learned to love me again………….

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, poetry, postaday

Worries ~~~ A Poem

 

source
source

Worries

Another sleepless night passes, body weary, sore

Worries scuttle through my mind, like rats seeking shadows

Gnawing at my peace, they scurry and never quite settle

Wondering if sleep will forever elude me

False friendships I find, bitter disappointment,

Worries have no place in their golden lives

They settle into mine, solid, unmoving it seems

Spirit tired, bruised, seeking the light

Words form, simple, telling, painful to say

Honest wishes, fading like mist into a sea of need

How to reach out, take hold, breath again

Alone, like the ticking of the clock at 3 am

Worries throbbing with the rhythm of my heart beat

Fast, erratic, hurtful as the backs turned to me

Silence thunders in my ears, close my eyes to the pain

I go on, I survive to lay sleepless another night

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, poetry, postaday, writing

His Pain ~~~ A Poem

grief

 

 

 

His Pain

He moans in his sleep,

as his pain is still there, ever vigilant

His eyes, empty when awake,

the body, thin, frail, bones jutting outward

Hands shaking, reaching, clawing for another pill

anything to make him forget for a few more moments

She watches, silently, nothing she can do

as she hides the only thing that makes his life bearable

Her memories, fading, being replaced with the man now

the smile forgotten, as it never shows itself anymore

Hands shaking, she doles out his daily dose of numbness

as he can’t be trusted to do it himself anymore

He talks of ending things, his pain, his numbness

She listens in fear, one day knowing it might come to pass

He shuffles, slippered feet helped with a cane

She watches and sighs silently, wanting to help, but can’t

He cries his tears of frustration, needing his life back,

She has no tears left, watching his life fade……..

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Humor, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, Stories of my life

New Diet Sensation!

 

Hello People!

 

 

I am here to tell you about the amazing breakthrough new diet! It’s called the Pain Diet!

 

No pills! No exercise! No eating! No fun!

 

 kneepain1

 

If you are looking for a new and amazing way to lose weight, well look no further! This new diet will have you shedding that unwanted weight in no time!

 

 

Sure you might groan and spend sleepless nights awake and in pain. But isn’t it worth it?? Just think of those extra 15 – 20 pounds that you would love to lose but have been hanging around since college days! Well have no fear. This amazing diet will let you shed that weight in less than 6 weeks!

 

 

Yes, you heard correctly. All you have to do is break a bone or pull a ligament and this amazing diet is yours free! That’s right folks! NO pills to take! NO exercises to do!

 

 

Order now and if you don’t have that broken bone or pulled ligament, we will send Big Carlos over within 48 hours to break a bone for you! Free of charge! (you just pay a small delivery charge)

 

 

So overdo now in your household or garden chores and get that knee ligament pulled! Then you too will be able to say at your next high school reunion….. “I shed my extra weight with the amazing Pain Diet!”
dropping_sizes_is_so_much_fun_posters-r739bfb124c65487a8de8897f79c207ab_w2j_8byvr_324
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(This is part of an email I sent a really great friend this morning, who asked how I was doing. This friend has been with me since the beginning of when I pulled the ligament in my knee almost six weeks ago. They suggested that it would make a funny post and I agreed. So here it is. Hope you enjoyed my tongue in cheek humor today. But, really I wouldn’t recommend this diet, it sucks. And yes I did lose almost 15 lbs in 6 weeks because of the pain. Some good came out of it all I guess. LOL)