Monthly Archives: June 2012

Count Your Blessings

I was very nervous leading up to this day.  So, I looked up on the internet for ways that make help me to calm my nerves.  One suggestion that I found quite useful suggested that I do the following – you may wish to follow along as you read…

Extend your right arm and hold it outstretched just in front of you.

Take your index finger and your thumb and prepare to draw them close to the bridge of your nose.

Bring your fingers to your nose and, while placing them just in front of the bridge of your nose, tilt your head back to expose the front of your neck.

Prepare your left hand as it moves towards your neck.  Make sure the index finger is given permission to connect to the throat first by tucking the thumb ever-so-slightly down and under the index finger.

Bring the left hand to the throat and strike the throat – not too hard and not too soft while uttering a noise that resembles a “humming noise”.  Repeat this strike while humming “Wheel May The Keel Rou”… (an Old Scottish tune that I’m not sure how to spell).



Note:  This technique works best with a glass of body builder in front of a bonfire, while accompanied by friends and family.

Dad’s bagpipes are certainly something with which all of us are familiar.

If that memory doesn’t strike a chord with you – then how about the following:

Tim and I a -hunting went….   Who is this guy juicy fruit….. water, I need water…. three guys were walking on a beach when suddenly one of them kicks a bottle in the sand… bologne… I have no money – do you?… Duffy’s Tavern, Duffy speaking… Feliz Navidad…. Some ha’ meat and canny eat… the dew may kiss the butterfly, a man may kiss his wife good-bye… buenos noches… get the bag, get the bag… lang may your lum reik -get out of my kitchen (this was originally Mom’s and then later Dad borrowed it),  Why that’s tongue sir.  Disgusting answered the man – I wouldn’t eat anything that came out of an animal’s mouth – give me a couple of hard-boiled eggs… and what did you use for lighting?  I don’t know – I was on the day shift…. brrrrrandy….you’ll be getting the furry part of me hand… one fish, two fish, nodder fish, nodder fish… we all know whose boss, Tessie you’re fired!,  …Wise old owl sat in the oak – the more he heard the less he spoke…and of course the famous.. ta-ta-for-now or TTFN.

And then – the songs, “oh, Suzanna’s the funny old man”  “Cocaine Bill and Morphine Sue were strolling down the Avenue (I didn’t know what that song was about until YEARS later but I know I used to teach it to other kids in kindergarten), Chase me Charlie, Chase me Charlie…

It is quite remarkable that one man can have so many one-liners that can be associated with him – but that’s Dad.

One thing Dad knew, though, and was gracious to offer it at every opportunity was the importance of gratitude.  Dad was always so grateful for his life.  He and Mom preached to Jamie and I to always “count our blessings”.

For several months now, and I know many of you know, Dad and I have been writing his memoires in the form of a blog.  The voice that we used to recount his tales was his.  He told me the stories and I wrote them up.  Dad always had to hear them once they had been written and he would correct my inaccuracies  when he felt they were “big” enough to be corrected.  He appreciated that he was to be an author – finally.  He was grateful to all the people who took the time and trouble to read about his life.  We watched as numbers of viewers/ readers grew from 5 to 30 to 100 to his biggest day 244.  He marvelled that people from India, Mexico, Canada, Norway, and the USA would be interested in reading about his life.  He had so many stories to tell and these stories are waiting to be told.

I know if Dad were going to tell one last story, though, it would be a story of a man who, reflecting on his life, would tell you what a good life he had.  He was grateful that he got to travel so much, to fly in planes, to have a wonderful family- a beautiful wife, to have such wonderful friends, and to have his health. Dad always said, “If you don’t have your health – you don’t have anything.”

I know if Dad were able to speak through words today that he would say thank-you to all of you for a wonderful life.  I think my job here today is to express Dad’s appreciation to you.

Thank-you for what you have all given to Dad. In his words, ” Thank-you for calling me Poppa and  “Poppa Old”… for asking my advice and respecting my opinion… for coming to Wednesday night dinners.. for offering me brandy by spoon… for encouraging me – the horizontal kid .. to get up in the morning…  for giving up your mom so often when she came to take care of me… for inviting me to your grade 12 graduation… for updating me about how your new teaching career is going… for entertaining us and meeting so many people when Grandma and I went on a cruise with you, your sister, your Mom and Dad… for playing Connect 4 with me… for not skunking me too often… for polishing Paula’s silverware… for helping me to the pink chair… for the pink chair… for taking me for one last ride in a plane… for telling me about your wrestling, karate, soccer, basketball, and volleyball… for giving me a good deal on tires, making me strawberry tarts and supporting Stacey… for cleaning the dryer vent… for sharing your faith with me… for giving me books and more books to keep my brain active… for encouraging me to go to the pool… giving me such great big hugs… having sleep-overs at my house… keeping in touch… supporting me when Paula passed away… honouring and respecting my contributions to this country… not spending my money on a new television… for making me muffins that kept me regular… for keeping me safe from tele-marketers… for telling me jokes… for dancing and singing with me… for taking care of Paula when she was ill… for asking for seconds…. for giving up your wife on so many occasions leaving you to stick-handle three kids, your house, and job … for giving me chocolates and date-squares… for helping me with the cross-word… for giving me the opportunity to end my life in my own home with dignity.

I thank God for these blessings – for you.

To end, I’d like to leave you with a few words that are lyrics from a movie that Mom and Dad used to love watching called, “White Chistmas”.  Its a song from a scene when Bob and Betty are having trouble sleeping because they don’t want to miss anything – they are on their way to Vermont where they are anticipating have a great time skiing on the snow-covered mountains.  It goes like this..

When I’m worried and I can’t sleep I count my blessings instead of sheep and I fall asleep counting my blessings.  When my bankroll is getting small I think of when I had none at all.  And I fall asleep counting my blessings. If  I’m worried and I cant sleep I count my blessings instead of sheep.  And I fall asleep counting my blessings…

Categories: Family and Friends, Life's Lessons | 3 Comments

Mom’s Computer

Note:  Today’s post is written in my (Stacey’s) voice

t’s the calm before the storm.

I am at home with my family.  Kevin is out picking up a few random things we need for the visitation tonight.  Ben and Katya are still sleeping as they have both been burning the candle at both ends between writing final exams, working their jobs, helping out around the house, caring for me (for which I am so grateful), and grieving the loss of their Poppa.  David is up wearing his house-coat (because I am wearing mine) watching television.

I just finished downloading recent photos of Dad – and Mom (who passed away November 2010) off Mom’s computer.  I was so relieved that Kevin was able to open it as the computer had been locked.  It is most likely the battery was dead – but to me – memories were as good as erased.

Mom’s computer was full of recent images.  There were photos of birthday parties, dinner parties, special events… ordinary days.  And in each photo, Dad was smiling.  And in each photo, Mom was smiling.

Mom’s computer was the testimony to how much a part of our lives Dad was.  He was inside our house, outside our house, apart from the house, singing, laughing, eating, celebrating.

Mom’s computer unlocked history.  Family Christmases, Malloff reunions… oh my goodness.

More recently, Mom’s computer unlocked a world that only Dad and his care-givers knew.  There were no images of his “girls” getting him ready for bed – pouring the brandy, changing into pyjamas, putting on is slippers, preparing his “whistle” so that he could whistle for help in the middle of the night if help was needed, wishing him a ta-ta-for-now, and turning off the light.  But there were photos of Dad well rested, well dressed, and content.

There were no images of his “girls” getting him up in the morning – putting on his slippers, his house-coat, walking beside him as he used the walker through every step, giving him a shower, helping him shave, get his teeth ready, putting on clothes, preparing his “shakes”, sausages, eggs, pills, coffee.  But there were photos of Dad smiling and healthy and clean and content.

There were no images of his “girls” playing cribbage with him (and wondering who was going to skunk whom), reading the newspaper with him, playing cards with him, doing the crossword with him, going to walks with him, talking him to the pool and doing physiotherapy with him, talking with him about God, Mom, and family.  There were no images of him guiding the girls through their relationships, finances, education, and celebrations.  But there were photos of Dad smiling – knowing that he was respected as a person for his wisdom – knowing he had been a Dad when there was no Dad around for the girls.

Sometimes what is not seen is what is more important than what is seen.

Mom’s computer asked me to read between the lines to understand how happily Dad lived with Mom and then, how much happiness the girls brought to Dad through their care and stories.  Dad was not allowed to be sad – he did not want to be sad. He always told me when we talked about Mom, “Think of the happy times”.  He told me the girls helped him live through Mom’s death because they were always happy.

Mom’s computer revealed smiles – happy times.

A picture tells a thousand stories – if you read between the lines.

Thank-you for all you have given to my family and I, girls.  On behalf of Dad, I would like to thank Diane, Tessie, Adrienne, Heather, Mely, Abby, Ana, and Dorothee and all the other wonderful ladies (and Rou) who gave Dad quality of life.  God bless you all.  I am forever in your debt.

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That’s My Sign

My daughter and I are still negotiating whether the “voice” in High Flight will be mine or hers.  I guess the bottom line is that maybe we don’t need to really decide.  Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and it wouldn’t matter whose voice was posted anyhow?

I do know one thing for certain.  There has been change.

My bed is empty – but my family continues to walk into my bedroom and observe the empty bed.  I want to reach out to tell them that I am there in their hearts – to give them a sign- don’t bother looking somewhere physical – but my voice is not of this world.

Before I passed away, my daughter and I talked about what signal I would use to indicate to her that I was still around.  On Friday nights, to give relief to the Dancing Nannies, my daughter would sleep over at my house and take care of me.  We would, as she said, “Party” – which meant playing Connect 4 with David and telling stories and listening to music with Stacey. It became a tradition that every Friday – we’d call Floyd and Frances (with an “e”).  We’d call at “cocktail” hour.  This was key because we’d all pour a rum and coke – so two in British Columbia and three in Barrie… one for Stacey, one for me, and one for Paula. Then – we’d all toast together on SKYPE.  As time passed, naturally Stacey’s and my drink disappeared – but Paula’s did not. We would half expect Paula to drink it – we waited and waited for the fluid to change – but it did not.  In the end, we decided we were crazy and we’d split the drink and toast to Mom.

Back to “my sign”.  The first night I was with Paula – crazy Stacey and the Dancing Nannies poured a glass of wine for me – and waited for it to disappear.  Eventually the wine became Stacey’s responsibility and it did in fact disappear. The wine is not my sign.

My family was together tonight – gathered to eat at my house.  There was peace.  There was friendship.   There was respect.  All I had ever asked of my children was for harmony – for them to “get along”.  They were laughing, telling stories, listening to Anne Murray (although not everyone cared for Anne Murray!) .. Snowbird.  It was beautiful.  I believe they did this for me – and I am honoured.

Tomorrow – I know will be a big day for my family as they prepare for the “visitation”.  I will be with them.  My sign will be the peace they feel within themselves for a job well done.

That’s my sign.


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June 27, 2012

I thought that November 12, 2010 was a day that would never be replicated in terms of its importance. 

I was mistaken. 

November 12, 2010 was the reason that June 27, 2012 was so incredible. It is as though the first date prepared me for the second date – just like Mom prepared me for Dad. 

I’m not sure whose voice I should be using now.  If I write in first person, I would be writing as “Stacey”.  If I write as the ghost – I am writing as “Bill”.  My confusion comes in that I feel I am both.  And I feel that I am also “Paula”.  Now, these two people – Bill and Paula – Mom and Dad are the voices that I feel rather than hear.  

Tonight, Dad (Bill) passed away.  But, my God, he still has a voice. And what is weird is that now, more than ever, I feel that Mom has been given an equal voice.

It was magnificent.  I have never experienced anything like it.  Dad opened his eyes ever so slightly, and then they closed.  I’m sure it was a reaction of sorts – but it was enough to alert my brother and I that Dad was leaving us.  All I remember was holding his hand and reassuring him that we were there.  It was beautiful.  He was surrounded by care-givers that were “off -duty” but had come to see him anyhow.  Whatever possessed them to come at that time, God only knows – but it was Dad’s time. Not more than 5 minutes after they arrived, along with the nurse who had only come to “monitor” Dad’s progress, did Dad pass away.  There was no grand breath.  There was no grand inhale.  It was quiet.  Yes.  It was grace.  Dad had dignity.  I promised I’d keep him home and give him Dad a different journey than Mom – and I did. I kept my promise.  Mom was there today.  I felt her.  She is with me right now writing this blog. I’ve never edited a post so much as I am now.  My words are her words – they are “his” words too.  

I cannot begin to express my gratitude to everyone who supported our family through this final journey whether it was in person, in spirit, in words, or in faith.  

When one dies at home, and in peace, there are no words that can express the soul.  

I’m sure Dad would say, “Nothing”.  I don’t think words in His world are needed – what a majestic feeling it must be to leave the “surley bonds of earth”.  Dad would want to express his appreciation for a death well lived.  Today was a testimony, not only to a man whose life was well lived, but to everyone who was connected to Dad to make his life possible.  It takes a community to raise a child and to close the chapter in one person’s story.  

I don’t know how to tell you how I struggle for my voice tonight.  I can’t find the words.  I can’t find the direction.  But, yet, I am at peace.  Dad is at peace – and I think at long last, Mom is too.  We have harmony.  

Please allow me this attempt to speak my father’s voice. 

“I am.  I am no longer tired.  I no longer need assistance to walk, to eat, to read the newspaper.  Don’t get me wrong – I loved the help from my dancing nannies and my other blessed caregivers… but I am now free to soar on my own.  I am independent – just as I was when I was young and vital.  But now, I am wiser – to know that no one soars alone.  There are those who give as there are those who accept.  The trick is knowing when and which is your time and calling.  I have accepted care for so long now – I am ready to give.  But in the next world, I cannot give as you would expect.  I don’t know what to do yet – Paula will tell me.  And in turn, I’ll teach my children.  This, is our legacy.” 

It is late, and although my mind is spinning, I know I’ll sleep – Dad no longer yearns for Mom.  

Where are they?  I don’t really know – but what I do know is that I am able to say that I was a good daughter  – or in Dad’s words, I am now, “Our beautiful daughter.  Thank-you so much for everything that you have done.”  And that’s all I would ever want.  

Cheers, Dad – on this night – and TTFN! 


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Those Were the Days ….

Duffy’s Tavern.  That was what our friends called our home.  The doors were always open to guests – either familiar or unfamiliar.  It didn’t matter how well we knew people, they were welcome and treated as a guest. 

There were many songs that were sung in our home, but I think one of Paula’s favorite (and naturally my favorite too) was, a song about friends, laughter, and dreams:  Those Were The Days. Enjoy. 

Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And dreamed of all the great things we would do

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.
La la la la…
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

Then the busy years went rushing by us
We lost our starry notions on the way
If by chance I’d see you in the tavern
We’d smile at one another and we’d say

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.
La la la la…
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Was that lonely woman really me

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.
La la la la…
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

Through the door there came familiar laughter
I saw your face and heard you call my name
Oh my friend we’re older but no wiser
For in our hearts the dreams are still the same

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.
La la la la…
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

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I Wait – Is Someone Waiting for Me?

Another day is dawning.  My mouth is so dry, but I am calm.  Still, what does the good Lord have in mind for me? Why am I hanging on?  Honestly, I am ready to go – but I’m not ready to go.  

Last night there was another party in my room.  My nurse, Jennifer, took over so that the family could sleep.  I know they must not have slept too well as they kept coming in every once in a while and chatted. They chatted a lot. Now, don’t get me wrong – I enjoy their chatting, but I also enjoy the silence.  Sometimes they sit and hold my hand.  I love the feeling of someone touching me.  They know I am in here.  I can hear them – I just can’t respond. 

I used to be the entertainer, the one to tell jokes and the one to sing songs.  I cannot for the life of me get those sounds to come out of my mouth.  The air comes in and the air goes out… and that’s the sound they hear.  I know it scared my grandchildren a bit to see me like this – but their parents reassured them that my journey is one that is not painful.  It is part of life.  God, how I wish Paula had this exit opportunity. I am comfortable in my own home – this is my bed – I know these sounds of birds chirping, of skateboards passing down the street.  Thank goodness no noisy motorcycles yet.  

The sun is rising – I feel the warmth on my face.  My limbs are still warm, but I’m getting tired of being in the same place – the girls turn me every once in a while but it hurts.  All I can do is groan.  But they know and they are gentle.  God bless their care.  

I hear the birds.  

I lost Paula on November 12, 2010 at 7 in the morning.  Is that my time? I know I’ll be called… but when?  

I love my family.  I hear, “I love you Dad”, and I tell their hearts, “I love you too”.  You are never to old to learn, don’t you know – I just learned a new language:  the language of heart.  I communicate without speaking or seeing.  I think I get it.  Maybe that’s why I’m still here – I’m preparing to speak without needing my body.  Is that it?  

I’m tired.  I am breathing.  I am relaxed.  I wait. 

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All’s Calm on the Home Front

It’s calm.  My breathing is rhythmic and familiar.  Moments, I pause.  I know they draw close to check what will happen next.  Will I breathe?  Will I?  And finally – I do.

My body is calm.  The morphine has helped me to be still.

The Lord is my Shepherd… I shall not want.  I have never wanted for anything.  I have lived my life a man blessed with family and friends.  And it seems to continue till when I draw my final breath.

But it is not my final breath yet.

I hear people speaking.  “I love you, Dad”, they say.  “I love you, Poppa”, they say, “I love you Grandpa”, they say… and they say, “I love you Bill”.  What they heck.  They all love me?  What did I do?

It’s calm.  I sleep.

Categories: Duff History, Family and Friends, Life's Lessons | 2 Comments

Finding my Purpose

I made it through the night.

My daughter slept at my feet and my nannies took turns helping with my meds. I have no pain.

I wish this kind of exit from this world for others.

My birth seemed to be more difficult.  I was so small that no one expected me to live.  My aunt put me in a shoe-box and put me in the oven to keep warm.  Imagine.  Over ninety years now I’ve been down off the shelf and living – really living.

My last few years have forced me to be so much more contemplative.  I have listened and hope that I have helped to make people happy.

My daughter and I used to have a lot of sleep-overs in the latter years.  She and David or she and Katya, or she and Ben would come and have a “party” with me on a Friday night.  That would give my nannies a chance for  a REAL week-end.  Stacey and I would talk about our new situation without Paula.  We talked about my purpose.  I needed to know my purpose in life.  Why was I the one who stayed?  I was always the one who was ill – not Paula. I think I concluded that Paula had done enough.  She was tired.  She nursed her whole life and especially me during the last few years.  She needed a rest.

My purpose – I concluded was to make people happy. I hope that I’ve succeeded.  My daughter seems to think I  have.  I have always been so appreciative of the help that people have given to me in my “golden” years.  Without the help of my care-givers I would not have been able to maintain my dignity.  I hope they know how much I have appreciated them.  I tried to tell them.  I tried to help bring families together – to offer what words of wisdom I could and I tried to bring people dignity.  Always forgive.

And smile.

It is time to rest.  I’ll write more today to let you know my progress … and hopefully to make you smile.


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Thanks for the Memories

I am flying.  I feel the exhilaration of the speed of the plane.  I must be back in India.  It’s hot. I look down to my salt-stained socks.  The guys are all just waiting. There is a lot of waiting.  

I am walking.  I feel the earth under my feet as the plow moves steadily forward.  It’s potato planting season.  The sun is warm against my back.  The horse is strong and the earth parts obediently.  

I am dancing.  I feel Paula next to me.  We are dancing to Moonlight Serenade.  The music fills the room.  We are not alone.  Everyone is dressed to the nines.  Another Mess Formal.  My Paula in my arms.  

I am swimming.  I kicked my feet to make a huge splash.  Stacey always liked that.  I’m on my back floating in our pool on the farm.  We entertained so many friends in that pool.  The slide.  Geronimo!  The inflatable alligator that no one could ride.  Kids laugh.  Adults applaud divers competing for a “10”. 

I am star-gazing.  The bonfire in the middle of our forest.  Looking up there are millions of stars.  It’s not like this in the city.  God’s country.  The cool breeze floats over me and the fire warms my toes.  Put on some more wood.  The brush I cleared from the woods today.  Stacey helped me get the pile of wood ready for the show. 

I am talking to Paula.  She is crying.  We fight.  I listen.  Her feelings are hurt.  I’m sorry.  We talk it through.  Communication is so important.  We never go to bed angry.  I love you too, Paula.

I am walking my daughter down the aisle.  It’s hot.  There’s Kevin ahead.  My daughter on my arm.  No more than 4 pounds and now look. 

My dad needs my help.  “Dad, I’ll make you a deal.”  I’m always negotiating with him. 

Back in the air.  The big blue.  Up, up.  Out of this world.  Peace.  

I am sleeping.  

So many flashes of memory.  I have lived so many things.  To sleep, perchance to dream.  A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou.  I can’t talk to anyone like I used to talk to Paula.  She is here. She is watching over me.  She is waiting.  I hold my breath.  Where is she?  

I am dreaming.  I must be dreaming.  Or am I really lying here with you?  Anne Murray.  I am singing.  I love to sing.  I tap my toes.  The beat is rhythmic.  I breathe in.  Exhale.  Music.  Then, nothing.  

They tell me I snore.  I know I talk in my sleep.  Stacey and I entertained Paula on the farm.  If she came to bed after we did, I’d be busy controlling planes as air traffic control and Stacey was singing the latest song she learned for the Eastview Concert Choir. 

So many flashes.  I jump from image to image.  

I sleep.  Dreaming is my new reality at this moment.  It’s not so bad.  Count sheep, Stacey.  Take a deep breath in and hold it to ten – then exhale for ten.  Keep doing that until you fall asleep. 

Beavers, ground-hogs, partridges, raccoons, dogs, skunks (bad combination), porcupines.


Cribbage, bridge, canasta

So many memories… 

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Am I On My Way?

It was a tough day today – but I am finally resting comfortably in my own bed in the company of my dancing nannies, my son, and my daughter.

I don’t really remember how today even began.  Every once in a while I woke up and there were different people staring me in the face.  I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t talk.  I had things to say and everyone knew it – they waited patiently for me to speak, but the words just didn’t come out.  My chest was so congested. I overheard the nurse who checked me out this morning – although I didn’t get a good look at her as I couldn’t open my eyes – tell my daughter that I was congested.  She said, “there is medication for that”.

All day I seemed to phase in and out.  I know that I must have had some sort of apple sauce this morning by spoon – not nearly as good as my brandy last night!  And I was offered water, coffee, gator-aide, and a variety of other liquids by spoon too.  I could sometimes use the spoon and sometimes I just couldn’t seem to get the motions right.

My legs were so restless and as the day progressed I became very uncomfortable.  Since I wasn’t able to swallow my Parkinson’s medication, my muscles began to spasm.  I am so grateful that my Parkinson’s has been so well managed by sinemet.

In and out – all day.  I wake up to new faces. But there are always those faces that have become so familiar to me – tenderly looking over me – re-positioning me when I slip down in my bed – cleaning me gently, singing to me, and re-assuring me.  My lovely ladies – all of them.

At one time there was quite the crowd.  I know it wasn’t my birthday – maybe it was… my deathday?  Maybe that’s what they thought?

Well, I guess since I made it through till now – I guess it wasn’t my time to go today.

I saw Paula struggle in pain before she passed away, and although it took a long time to find relief from my pain through apomorphex I am finally resting.  My breathing is irregular I hear them say, my heart beat is irregular, I hear them say, but man I was tired.  I don’t think I’ve slept in two days  – seriously.  They used to call me the horizontal kid – but this is ridiculous.

And so here I am  – still at home.  I have two nurses now who use the “symptom- relief” kit.  I’ve met Debbie this morning (as I said I haven’t actually seen her but she sounded lovely) and Kim (who explained to my daughter how to administer the drugs).  I was too out of it to meet Kim tonight but I hope I’ll rest and be alert to see her tomorrow.  Paula – don’t worry – remember I only have eyes for you.

This is where I’m at.  I am tired.  My daughter will have to continue my stories and I know she has solicited the help of our friends to bring memories into type.  I got a kick out of listening to some of the tape recordings I had done years ago of my WWII experiences and I know Stacey will transfer those stories to this blog one day.

My life has been rich.  When will it be my time?  When will I take “our” final journey?

If Paula could have, she would have died vicariously through me.  This is the departure she wanted.  She, once again, prepared the way for me and is guiding our family.

It is time for sleep and should I wake, I will try to see what the good Lord has planned for me the next day.


Categories: Family and Friends, Life's Lessons | Tags: , , , , , | 6 Comments

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