Thursday, June 17, 2010

A Better Day Today

What a gorgeous day, it was today. Sunshine, green lush lawns and trees, flowers in glorious colors. We both attended the temple today. It felt wonderful to be there. But first, I went to see a specialist for sleep disorder. He said for me to be tested to see if I am getting enough oxygen because the other two tests I did over 7 years ago and 4 years ago said I am not. He wants to know why and perhaps take me off the sleep machine. Now that would be wonderful, but then he said; However, you may need oxygen at night. Getting old is not for sissies.

But I have decided I am going to be happy at 100, with God's help and friends and family, I shall.

Monday, June 14, 2010

How do I do this?

How do I do this? I'm not doing it very well. I don't want to talk to him because when I do it is a work, a lot of work to try to relate to what he is remembering or not remembering and what I do or don't know that will help us both. I am so sad, sorry and burdened. I feel guilty and want to run away, I love him, I want to help; but am helpless, angry, frustrated, bitchy. I pray and ask God for direction. I overeat and try to find energy to cope. I exercise and feel better. Then another day, another cog slips and around we go again. Gropping through the mist. Dear God, please help me do your will.

I Know, I Was There! Wasn't I?

Yesterday at church, I was shown a lovely, large room that we will be able to teach Family History. The brother that showed me the room, was excited and I told him I would show Aldon as soon as I could find him. After Sunday School, Aldon was going on about wind turbines and the conversation he had with someone when I told him there was something I wanted to show him. We got up and walked to the new family history room. He was delighted and said over and over how nice it was. We left the room and he walked to class with the brother who had given me the room and thanked him.

After church, we were standing in our closet hanging up our church clothes when he turned to me and said, "I have great news! The church has given us a large room with internet to teach family history." I just sucked in a deep breath, looked at him worriedly and said, "Aldon, I was with you, I know I was there! Don't you remember?" He looked blankly at me and said, "Were you?" "Yes, I was." "Are you okay" He said., "My mind can't seem to hold onto thoughts today. I couldn't understand the lesson in church." Me, "How do you mean? Connecting one thought or statement with another." "yes."

I know I was there! I was! Just keeping it real.

Memories are made of mist

Intro time. My name is Laroc Carlsdatter. I am old and so is my spouse, Aldon. My birth date is recorded as 1925. You do the math. I was born on the 4th of July in the heat of a Chicago summer. My family was disjointed, dissolving and divorcing or at least contemplating it by the time I was 9 months old. My father hated my mother's mother and she likewise thought him quite the fool. He gave mama a choice, him or her mother. She must have chosen Nanny because he divorced her when I was 9, sis 8 and brother 4. But enough of my childhood. I met and married a good man, sweet, quiet, kind, intelligent. Did I say intelligent? An understatement to say the least. He eventually finished with a Ph.D. in some subject that no one could understand let alone converse with him in. That was okay, because he didn't like talking all that much. I worked for five years and we had our first child, a son, named Aldon, Jr. Aldon came into this world hurting and we could never figure out why. He cried when we fed him, cried when he was tired, bored, wet, or for no reason.

We had another son, Alred, who eventually gave us a dozen grandchildren. Then two longed for daughters, Avery and Belle who added 8 more grands to the pot. Then several grandchildren married had babes and soon our numbers were nearing 100. We had to rent a hall every year to hold our annual all-family get together. Now you know the intro., but that is not why I am writing this blog. This blog is meant to be a ways and means for me to document my Aldon's declining memory.

Why do I need to record this hateful, hurtful time in my ancient life? My husband is losing his power to connect with me and I am freaking out because I feel myself slipping into this mist of uncertainity about what is real and what is not. So I hope that as I write and share these day to day fogs, mists and blurs, I will be able to remember me and not lose myself in the search for what is real.