Monday, June 14, 2010

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.

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