Monday, July 16, 2018

No Woman, No Cry

Eye candy:
 From the Goodwill, Tuesdays of course with my 25% off,
I bought this skirt...Lynsey has instructed me to make her a scarf from it.
She says she is really short on scarves, she is 9 years old..
Stitch thinks  he enhances the picture...He is quite vain.
I have 10 of these blocks...divided 4 patch...I just hate making them.
What to do?  They sit here in my mess.

Adorable patches for children's quilts:

I love my fabric..sooo much...I need it too..
Because there is this:

I am discussing politics with my man and TED talks and Celtic spirituality. He is in his wheelchair...Months later, he is already in the hospital bed. I am talking with him on the alphabet board about the grandchildren and how I will care for them without him. How I will survive without him...the joys of our life together...He can no longer speak.We even manage a joke by way of the alphabet board. I point to the letter. His lungs are impaired which affects talking...I point to A, he blinks once if it is right, twice if it is wrong...We go along this way...A...are you Do you worry about the children...yes...and so on.

Later, I tell strangers that I might have PTSD due to watching my man deteriorate bit by bit from ALS. The strangers gasp.... Of course you do. They cannot imagine...I cannot imagine either.

He is in his hospital bed...he cannot go to the bathroom...he is in great distress. I cannot fix it for him. The suction machine, the breathing mask, the feeding tube. Then there he is in the Hoyer lift...the CNA works it so he can go outside to the fresh air...Of course all the apparatus must come too..I lean over to kiss him and my breast touches the controls of the 500 pound chair ...I almost run over my own foot. He withdraws. He is dying. He is preparing. I am hovering...desperate to figure out how to save him...He hates hovering. He says..Go sew. My machine is 10 feet away from his hospital bed...thru open French doors, we can see and hear each other. The sewing machine calms me. I think the hum of it calms him too. The caregiver said that his urine and fingers were changing color. I demand to know why she did not tell me....She insists that she did...I could not hear her...protected by denial...It has been three and a half years since his death. There is nothing I can do but carry on. I am waiting for his strength to surge within me so I can survive with the same bravery that he reflected...I want to be strong.
No Woman No Cry

My friends have their own lives as they should  They fit me in when they can.  I am grateful.
I am in a corn field maze.  I know there is a way out, but I cannot find it.
My recliner is wearing out from over use..I am always exhausted.
Grief will do that

Thank you Bev for sharing this with me.


Chay said...

Does your guild have a Quilts for Kids program? It's where you donate blocks and someone puts them together into a top and quilts it and then it's donated to programs for kids. Maybe that's where your divided 4 patch blocks could go. I get rid of stinker projects that I don't like, or changed my mind about making. It gets them out of your sewing room and into the hands of someone who will love them. Why keep projects that have ceased to bring you pleasure? I have read your blog for years and admire your courage in sharing what you and your family have gone through. As a friend says, "Courage! Stay upright!"

Michele Bilyeu said...

We cannot begin to imagine all the pain and loss and pain and heartache now so deepky embedded in your being . Of course it is ptsd. But you are working through it bit by bit and you are doing great good in your life as you do just by blessing us with your sharing and coping and your life. Your blog is a gift to all who visit as well as coping therapy for all.