Thursday, March 24, 2011

Clear -- remembering to breathe

This word was given to me by Jane

Today and yesterday have been rough days.  As we close in on the move date, Grandma is getting more and more anxious and frantic.  I have become the bad guy -- the one who is forcing her to move and get rid of all of her collection of rubber bands, reused Styrofoam meat trays, drawers full of torn panty hose and EVERYTHING SHE'S EVER LOVED.

The more anxious she gets, the worse day she has, the worse day we both have.  Then I don't sleep and the cycle starts again.  There have been bouts of tears on both sides, loose tempers, hurt feelings, expressions of fear, and hope that on Saturday things will work out for the best.

There have been times that one, or both of us, has had to take a time out.  Boots on, coat zipped, dogs at the ready --  I escape to the outside.

At first, I stomp.  Hard, fast, and determined.  I stomp.  I fume.  Then the dogs get to me.  They run and run and run.  They tumble across each other and growl with fake fight.  They run and run and run and then they run to me.

Tongues out, feet flying.

I stop stomping.  Finally, I take a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding since the morning.  I remember to be patient, forgiving, and appreciative.  I walk as long as I can, as far as I can, until I feel I can handle another day.

Today, I almost made it to Saskatoon.


  1. One more day, Honey. Hang in there. Mother Teresa has nothing on you. Let Auntie Ruth carry some of the load.

  2. I take it Saskatoon is like more than a mile from where you are.


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