On The Wind

Death is on the wind by sapphoq 8/11/2014

"People come in here and people go out of here. Some of them die."

"Yes."

"Am I going to die soon?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes, that could be on the wind."

"I think so too. Are you afraid to die?"

"No."

[redacted]

"What's going to happen to me?"

"When you can't stay here safely, you're going to move to the  hospice."

"Okay."

"What comes next after the walker?"

"A wheelchair. But using a wheelchair is better than not being able
 to go places."

"Okay."


     Some years ago, Gloria Thomas put out a New Age album called, "When I Become The Wind." Her husband B.J. Thomas was featured on it along with some other folks. I could not find the lyrics to the title song on the web. I only found one site-- in New Zealand-- that still sells the album. I have the cassette tape.

     "When I Become the Wind" is about death. Unless you have the album yourself or are better at web searching than I am, you'll have to take my word for it. It is a haunting melody.

     During my own near death experience (triggered by fear and not by being close to dying), a wind knocked me back and I awoke. The idea of death being a wind or of us becoming wind after we die is not alien to me.

     Until the above conversation, I pictured Death at the backdoor and waiting for Dad to be ready to go. Now I think she is the wind that will free him from his physical body. After Death there is nothing. Just the wind whispering that Love Was Here.

                              ~ sapphoq on life ~

Pools

     One aunt and uncle had a couple of kids and a pool. It was a large above-the-ground in a square shape with a deck. The pool itself was surrounded by long timbers on the outside. I've never seen one like it before or since but I suppose other folks probably had one like it.

     They also had beds of flowers surrounded the house. I liked the pansies especially. "They seemed to be such happy flowers"-- a phrase I must have heard somewhere. I didn't think that then but it's what comes to mind now.

     Their downstairs bathroom also had fish wallpaper and a couple of fish figures on the walls.

     Later, the pool was traded out for an in-ground of the same size, shape, and depth. I preferred the old pool but never said so. Aunt and uncle seemed rather proud of the new one so I said nothing.

     I learned how to swim in a big army pool in the southern part of North Carolina. We'd gone visiting and a day at the base was a treat! I was never afraid of the water that I remember. I always could float well and swimming involved adding arm and leg movements to what I could already do.

     I was exposed to a pool at a Y during gym class in elementary school. We were bused there. I hated that. The locker rooms were not private enough. The kids were too loud. The instructor decided that I needed to learn how to breathe after every stroke of the front crawl rather than after every five or six stroked when I needed to. Because of that, I was put into the "beginner" swimmer class instead of into the more advanced class where my other classmates went and where I truly belonged. I was overly quiet and didn't advocate for myself then. Loud tears at the least, or a screaming tantrum may have gotten my message across better than my whispered short protest. My swimming did not improve during that class. I already knew how to do all sorts of things in the water contrary to what the Y staff thought. 

     Dad preferred apartment living to renting part or all of a house. [Later, he preferred owning a condo]. One of the apartments had a pool in the back. We had lots of fun there in the summer. Once my mother refused to let me take a bathing suit along. I don't know why. Dad allowed me to swim in my clothing [blue laws meant that swimsuits could not be purchased on Sundays] which was then washed and dried before I went back to my mother's. 

     At the apartment pool, I swam, floated, jumped or dove off the board, swam underwater, and perfected my side strokes. [I can swim on either side equally well]. I also learned to do headstands in the water. When not in the pool, we played Rummy 500. 

     Dad saved a little boy from drowning in the shallow section of the pool once. Even the lifeguard did not see that the toddler was in trouble. I learned that choking can be very quiet.

     Dad's days enjoying pools, lakes, and the ocean are over. His card-playing is over now too. When asked if he wanted to play Rummy 500, he shook his head and in a rare act of vulnerability acknowledged that the game would be too difficult for him now.

     Dad admitted recently to no longer being able to "keep up." 

     Dementia sucks.

                    sapphoq on life

No More

Valentine's Day was always special with Dad. He would buy us each a card, a box of chocolates and a tiny whimsical stuffed animal.

We visited Dad on Friday at his adult living home. He was sitting on the couch next to a woman who used to be his sworn enemy just months ago. The two of them were talking and laughing. 

"He's having an off day," the house manager indicated to us as we sat down. I noted that Dad had paired a fancy dress shirt with his flannel pajama bottoms. The socks matched, I will say that. Dad had a glass of wine in one hand. He asked us how the drive was from Florida!

The medication woman came around. "No," Dad said. "I'm not taking that." She tried her best to talk him into it. But Dad was steadfast. After she went away, Dad turned to me and said softly, "They're not helping. I'm not taking them anymore." 


sapphoq on life