My friend Lori posted a link to the above-referenced web page on the Green Screen yesterday. It shows before and after pictures of people who used methamphetamines. It's not pretty. We've been also told how in just one year, the abuser's teeth are destroyed by methamphetamine abuse.
The web site this page is hosted on is called DrugFree.org. It's the site for The Partnership for a Drug Free America. It gives a wealth of information about drug abuse, how to spot it, and how to stop it. It's a fascinating read and worth your time.
I've seen first hand what drug abuse will do to the abuser. No one wants to be addicted to drugs. What starts out as getting high for kicks becomes a nightmare of dependency where you're coerced into doing anything to get more of the drug just to keep the physical pain of withdrawal at bay.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Midnight At The Edge of Thomas Cemetery
I spent some time at Soul Sister's house Friday evening. We had eaten pizza, chicken wings, and bread sticks. Her daughter had a friend staying with them, so I had put them to work tagging and bagging Avon books for distribution. They actually made a game out of it, so at least they weren't too bored with the task. Around 11:30, Soul Sister was getting sleepy, so I left her place to go home.
The first couple of miles seemed like an endless row of sandy dirt road lined with tall, narrow pine trees piercing the dark night sky. My truck's headlights pushed the darkness back and illuminated the road like spotlights on a stage. The sky was overcast, so I was unable to see any stars in the sky. I rode with my window down so I could listen to the frogs croak their conversations to other frogs. Heavy rain seems to make them more vocal.
Once I got to the paved street leading to Hoboken, I set the cruise control and observed what little I could see of my surroundings. With the exception of the occasional house with outside lights and/or a light pole, the road was dark. It was nearly midnight and almost everyone in the area was home and off the road. All I could see was the glow of the dashboard instruments in my truck and the illuminated pavement a few feet in front of me.
Hoboken is an extremely small town. It was refreshing to see a Shell station open at this time of night. Almost every other business in the downtown area was closed and dark. Turning onto US 82 toward Waycross, I noticed other vehicles in the distance going to their various destinations. It was the first sign of life I had witnessed since I left Soul Sister's place.
Six miles later, I approached Miles Still Road on the right. Normally, this would be the shortest route to take to go home from Hoboken. However, this road had an additional significance for me: Thomas Cemetery was less than a mile away. Thomas Cemetery was Mom's new home since she died last January. I've never been able to drive past the cemetery without making a stop, and tonight would be no exception. I turned onto the road, crossed the railroad tracks, and proceeded to slowly drive toward the cemetery.
Thomas Cemetery was located across the street from New Hope Advent Christian church. The church was well-lit on the outside, thanks to the installation of a couple of light poles with the extra-bright halogen floodlights. In contrast, the cemetery across the street was dark. As I pulled up to the cemetery, my headlights could only shine a limited range upon the property. Even though there is a wide enough space between the rows of graves, there were no easily-marked paths for people to drive on. I had to drive the truck very slowly to avoid driving over a grave site. I slowly approached the row my mother was buried in. When I got as close as I could, I turned off my headlights and shut off the truck.
I surveyed my surroundings. The cemetery had been in existence since the 1800's. There was a small patch of graves to the far right of me of people who had been buried before the twentieth century. If someone were to examine this area, he would see that there are patches of sunken ground. Most people buried during that time were either wrapped in cloth or buried in wooden caskets. As time went on, decomposition and disintegration cause the ground directly above to shift and cave in. Most of the sites now are extended family members buried in concrete vaults and marked with thicker, sturdier headstones. However, I suspect there are some gravesites that were forgotten about and their grave markers were either destroyed or never existed. I try to keep this in mind whenever I walk around the property.
I looked to my left and examined Mom's grave. The silk flowers generously given to us by dear friends were still up and surrounding the cement block covering her underground vault. Can't believe it's been seven months since she passed away. I started thinking about how she didn't like for me to be out alone after dark. I honestly listened to see if I could hear her turning over in her grave because her baby daughter was sitting all alone in a cemetery at around midnight for no good reason.
Looking around and listening to the quiet of the night, I made sure that no one was around. I was experiencing a first: I had never been to a cemetery after dark alone. Growing up, I was easily spooked by skeletons, dead people, and ghosts. The very idea of being in a graveyard was creepy enough in the daytime, much less at night. It's funny how as we get older, we do things as adults that we'd never consider doing when were younger.
I turned to her grave again and started talking to Mom. I had been haunted by her in my dreams lately. I felt the need to tell her where I stood with them. In life, Mom was a high-strung obsessive-compulsive with a need to be in control. In our household, if Mom wasn't happy, no one was happy. Even after she died, she was still trying to tell me what to do in my dreams. Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I finished getting things off my chest and reasserting my life since her passing. I told her I loved her, wiped the tears from my eyes, and started up the truck. Not wanting to risk turning around with limited lighting, I drove to the back of the cemetery and followed the perimeter of the property back toward the road.
My mind was still on the significance of my actions when I arrived at the house five minutes later. To most, it would seem silly that going to a cemetery around midnight would be considered "a significant event," in someone's life. One day, I'll be able to delve into the realms of my mother's life and her influence on me.
The first couple of miles seemed like an endless row of sandy dirt road lined with tall, narrow pine trees piercing the dark night sky. My truck's headlights pushed the darkness back and illuminated the road like spotlights on a stage. The sky was overcast, so I was unable to see any stars in the sky. I rode with my window down so I could listen to the frogs croak their conversations to other frogs. Heavy rain seems to make them more vocal.
Once I got to the paved street leading to Hoboken, I set the cruise control and observed what little I could see of my surroundings. With the exception of the occasional house with outside lights and/or a light pole, the road was dark. It was nearly midnight and almost everyone in the area was home and off the road. All I could see was the glow of the dashboard instruments in my truck and the illuminated pavement a few feet in front of me.
Hoboken is an extremely small town. It was refreshing to see a Shell station open at this time of night. Almost every other business in the downtown area was closed and dark. Turning onto US 82 toward Waycross, I noticed other vehicles in the distance going to their various destinations. It was the first sign of life I had witnessed since I left Soul Sister's place.
Six miles later, I approached Miles Still Road on the right. Normally, this would be the shortest route to take to go home from Hoboken. However, this road had an additional significance for me: Thomas Cemetery was less than a mile away. Thomas Cemetery was Mom's new home since she died last January. I've never been able to drive past the cemetery without making a stop, and tonight would be no exception. I turned onto the road, crossed the railroad tracks, and proceeded to slowly drive toward the cemetery.
Thomas Cemetery was located across the street from New Hope Advent Christian church. The church was well-lit on the outside, thanks to the installation of a couple of light poles with the extra-bright halogen floodlights. In contrast, the cemetery across the street was dark. As I pulled up to the cemetery, my headlights could only shine a limited range upon the property. Even though there is a wide enough space between the rows of graves, there were no easily-marked paths for people to drive on. I had to drive the truck very slowly to avoid driving over a grave site. I slowly approached the row my mother was buried in. When I got as close as I could, I turned off my headlights and shut off the truck.
I surveyed my surroundings. The cemetery had been in existence since the 1800's. There was a small patch of graves to the far right of me of people who had been buried before the twentieth century. If someone were to examine this area, he would see that there are patches of sunken ground. Most people buried during that time were either wrapped in cloth or buried in wooden caskets. As time went on, decomposition and disintegration cause the ground directly above to shift and cave in. Most of the sites now are extended family members buried in concrete vaults and marked with thicker, sturdier headstones. However, I suspect there are some gravesites that were forgotten about and their grave markers were either destroyed or never existed. I try to keep this in mind whenever I walk around the property.
I looked to my left and examined Mom's grave. The silk flowers generously given to us by dear friends were still up and surrounding the cement block covering her underground vault. Can't believe it's been seven months since she passed away. I started thinking about how she didn't like for me to be out alone after dark. I honestly listened to see if I could hear her turning over in her grave because her baby daughter was sitting all alone in a cemetery at around midnight for no good reason.
Looking around and listening to the quiet of the night, I made sure that no one was around. I was experiencing a first: I had never been to a cemetery after dark alone. Growing up, I was easily spooked by skeletons, dead people, and ghosts. The very idea of being in a graveyard was creepy enough in the daytime, much less at night. It's funny how as we get older, we do things as adults that we'd never consider doing when were younger.
I turned to her grave again and started talking to Mom. I had been haunted by her in my dreams lately. I felt the need to tell her where I stood with them. In life, Mom was a high-strung obsessive-compulsive with a need to be in control. In our household, if Mom wasn't happy, no one was happy. Even after she died, she was still trying to tell me what to do in my dreams. Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I finished getting things off my chest and reasserting my life since her passing. I told her I loved her, wiped the tears from my eyes, and started up the truck. Not wanting to risk turning around with limited lighting, I drove to the back of the cemetery and followed the perimeter of the property back toward the road.
My mind was still on the significance of my actions when I arrived at the house five minutes later. To most, it would seem silly that going to a cemetery around midnight would be considered "a significant event," in someone's life. One day, I'll be able to delve into the realms of my mother's life and her influence on me.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Corey Johnson's Pool Table
You want to know the real value of a piece of furniture in your home? When someone takes the time to hand-craft, assemble, and create something functional that is pleasing to the eye, the finished product is priceless. Corey's pool table fits that description.
According to my dear friend Pam (Corey's mom), "He wanted to build his very own pool table and he did it ... and it WORKS!! He had to order some of the parts for it, like the rail cushions, but everything else, he bought here and there. It is regulation size and it is a lot bigger than what I expected it to be in my house."
The picture speaks for itself. You can take one look at it and know that he put a lot of work into it. I don't care if someone says they got their pool table by some famous designer. To me, Corey's pool table is worth more.
According to my dear friend Pam (Corey's mom), "He wanted to build his very own pool table and he did it ... and it WORKS!! He had to order some of the parts for it, like the rail cushions, but everything else, he bought here and there. It is regulation size and it is a lot bigger than what I expected it to be in my house."
The picture speaks for itself. You can take one look at it and know that he put a lot of work into it. I don't care if someone says they got their pool table by some famous designer. To me, Corey's pool table is worth more.
Friday, July 07, 2006
A Nine-Year-Old Child Gave Birth?
I read on the Fox News web site that a nine-year-old girl in Brazil was found pregnant and gave birth by ceaserian section. The authorities were investigating to see if it was a rape. The link to the story is here.
I will never understand why men find little girls sexually arousing. It had always been my belief that there was a natural instinct to protect children from harm. Once I started working for a prison then later surfed the Internet, that belief has all but been completely shattered. I now know that the depths of human depravity knows no bounds. Children are not exempt. Anyone who does not realize this is dangerously naive.
I will never understand why men find little girls sexually arousing. It had always been my belief that there was a natural instinct to protect children from harm. Once I started working for a prison then later surfed the Internet, that belief has all but been completely shattered. I now know that the depths of human depravity knows no bounds. Children are not exempt. Anyone who does not realize this is dangerously naive.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Survivor Participant Shoots Puppy With Arrow
On the Cable News Network web site, it was reported that Brian Heidik of "Survivor: Thailand" fame shot a puppy with an arrow.
A puppy??!!
Heidik claimed he thought it was a coyote which had been harrassing his pets in the past. Okay ... really pushing it, but I'll give him that. However, why did he flee when the sheriff's deputies arrived to investigate?
He's been charged with battery and cruelty to animals. Why the battery charge? It seems that the deputies found evidence of "battery for family violence." Under Georgia's domestic violence law, law enforcement officials must arrest the batterer, even if the victimized spouse or significant other does not want to press charges.
My honest opinion of the situation is that after his spat with his spouse, he went out shooting animals because he was still angry and wanted to lash out.
In any case, he doesn't sound like a nice guy.
A puppy??!!
Heidik claimed he thought it was a coyote which had been harrassing his pets in the past. Okay ... really pushing it, but I'll give him that. However, why did he flee when the sheriff's deputies arrived to investigate?
He's been charged with battery and cruelty to animals. Why the battery charge? It seems that the deputies found evidence of "battery for family violence." Under Georgia's domestic violence law, law enforcement officials must arrest the batterer, even if the victimized spouse or significant other does not want to press charges.
My honest opinion of the situation is that after his spat with his spouse, he went out shooting animals because he was still angry and wanted to lash out.
In any case, he doesn't sound like a nice guy.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The Extreme Diet Coke & Mentos Experiments
What happens when you combine 200 liters of Diet Coke and over 500 Mentos mints? It's amazing and completely insane.
The first part of this video demonstrates a simple geyser, and the second part shows just how extreme it can get. Over one hundred jets of soda fly into the air in less than three minutes.
It's a hysterical and spectacular mint-powered version of the Bellagio Fountains in Las Vegas, brought to you by the mad scientists at EepyBird.com.
The first part of this video demonstrates a simple geyser, and the second part shows just how extreme it can get. Over one hundred jets of soda fly into the air in less than three minutes.
It's a hysterical and spectacular mint-powered version of the Bellagio Fountains in Las Vegas, brought to you by the mad scientists at EepyBird.com.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Kids Say The Darndest Things
My supervisor sent me to run a couple of errands in a town and place an order on his behalf (all in a town 30 miles away). It's fiscal year closeout and we had a little money left. I figured after the errands, I could stop by my favorte fast food place (that's not available in the town where I work) and pick up my lunch and take it back to work with me. Despite the heat, I was in a fairly good mood and was actually singing stupid made-up ditties. My supervisor felt the pressure of the deadline approaching, and I wanted to help him. I felt like I was doing some good.
One of the places I had to go to was a home-improvement warehouse-type store. It was bad enough that it took 20 minutes to get someone to help me so I could place my order with them. It was even worse when my knee and back hurt enough that I had to sit down in a chair in front of the counter.
You know what really got me? A three or four-year old boy with a big mouth. While the clerk was typing my order into their computer, in front of four employees and ten customers, this little boy looked at me, opened is big mouth and loudly exclaimed in a slow southern drawl, "HIYA ... BIG ... FAT ... LADY!!!"
I was shocked and mortified.
I looked at this boy with my eyes wide open, and the only words I could get out of my mouth was, "Excuse you????" I then looked up at his mother to see how she was going to handle this situation. Only when she saw me look at her did she bother to correct her son.
What added insult to injury is that this kid had one of those briar-eating grins on his face like he knew he said something funny or clever. His mother told him that what he said wasn't nice and he was to tell me he was sorry. He kept grinning, looking around at all the people. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him. He kept grinning. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him in front of all these people. He stopped grinning. He had a look of surprise, like, "Huh? Are you serious?" He still wouldn't apologize. She repeated her threat. He started whining and mumbled that he was scared. She said, "Well, you weren't scared when you made your hurtful remark. Tell her you are sorry." He looked back at me and whined some more. She told him one more time. He still wouldn't apologize.
She finally looked at me and apologized for what he said. She said she was embarrased and that she would see to it that he is taught not to say things like that again. She then proceeded to spank him, then took him (crying) and her other two children outside.
I really wish she had just gone ahead and apologized for his remark and then dealt with him when they got to their vehicle. Needless to say when I finished placing my order and got back to my truck, I lost my appetite. I fueled up my truck and drove back to work.
The cashier agreed with me that the boy probably was allowed to make similar comments at home and got laughs from his family members. She also noted that the mother didn't react until I looked at her and "put the ball in her court" so to speak.
I'm sure someone is going to tell me that I overreacted and I should have just let it roll off my back. However, I beg to differ. Yes, I'm obese. However, I'm not the fat lady from the Big Top; the circus is not in town. I am not a f***ing freak show!!!! I am a woman with intelligence, values, desires, and a reasonable sense of humor. I deserve love and respect like every other woman on this planet! I want the world to know that I did not appreciate that child's remark, and it should not be condoned.
One of the places I had to go to was a home-improvement warehouse-type store. It was bad enough that it took 20 minutes to get someone to help me so I could place my order with them. It was even worse when my knee and back hurt enough that I had to sit down in a chair in front of the counter.
You know what really got me? A three or four-year old boy with a big mouth. While the clerk was typing my order into their computer, in front of four employees and ten customers, this little boy looked at me, opened is big mouth and loudly exclaimed in a slow southern drawl, "HIYA ... BIG ... FAT ... LADY!!!"
I was shocked and mortified.
I looked at this boy with my eyes wide open, and the only words I could get out of my mouth was, "Excuse you????" I then looked up at his mother to see how she was going to handle this situation. Only when she saw me look at her did she bother to correct her son.
What added insult to injury is that this kid had one of those briar-eating grins on his face like he knew he said something funny or clever. His mother told him that what he said wasn't nice and he was to tell me he was sorry. He kept grinning, looking around at all the people. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him. He kept grinning. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him in front of all these people. He stopped grinning. He had a look of surprise, like, "Huh? Are you serious?" He still wouldn't apologize. She repeated her threat. He started whining and mumbled that he was scared. She said, "Well, you weren't scared when you made your hurtful remark. Tell her you are sorry." He looked back at me and whined some more. She told him one more time. He still wouldn't apologize.
She finally looked at me and apologized for what he said. She said she was embarrased and that she would see to it that he is taught not to say things like that again. She then proceeded to spank him, then took him (crying) and her other two children outside.
I really wish she had just gone ahead and apologized for his remark and then dealt with him when they got to their vehicle. Needless to say when I finished placing my order and got back to my truck, I lost my appetite. I fueled up my truck and drove back to work.
The cashier agreed with me that the boy probably was allowed to make similar comments at home and got laughs from his family members. She also noted that the mother didn't react until I looked at her and "put the ball in her court" so to speak.
I'm sure someone is going to tell me that I overreacted and I should have just let it roll off my back. However, I beg to differ. Yes, I'm obese. However, I'm not the fat lady from the Big Top; the circus is not in town. I am not a f***ing freak show!!!! I am a woman with intelligence, values, desires, and a reasonable sense of humor. I deserve love and respect like every other woman on this planet! I want the world to know that I did not appreciate that child's remark, and it should not be condoned.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
IBC: Inflammatory Breast Cancer ... IMPORTANT
It was brought to my attention that television station KOMO in Seattle, Washington, did a story on Inflammatory Breast Cancer: The Silent Killer. I viewed the video and was left speechless. Women as young as teenagers have died from this fast-growing cancer. Maybe it's because I've lost a friend to breast cancer, or maybe it's because my dad is taking chemo treatments for colon cancer, but the minute this video ended, I was making posts on MySpace, VinXperience, and sending e-mails to all my friends about this. It's that important.
The video speaks for itself. Folks, please click on the link below to watch this six-minute segment.
http://ww3.komotv.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=785456&
Please help spread the word about this recently-discovered cancer.
The video speaks for itself. Folks, please click on the link below to watch this six-minute segment.
http://ww3.komotv.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=785456&
Please help spread the word about this recently-discovered cancer.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
MySpace.com is Not Evil ...
... and I'm sick of hearing about it.
Someone named Nathan Tabor has published a story about the evils of MySpace.com and how MySpace.com is the "Latest Danger in Cyberworld."
This is my response to his and other stories on the so-called evil MySpace.com:
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for teenage girls who willingly lie about their age and post provocative pictures of themselves. Nobody forced them to open an account.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for sexual predators stalking underage children. Just because the site exists doesn't give the predators an excuse as to why they pursue underage teens.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for the ills of the Internet community spilling over into our society.
It is time to stop pointing fingers at everyone and everything instead of pointing fingers at those who misuse a service to misbehave. It's time to start holding the offenders accountable for their actions. When the youngsters who lie on MySpace get caught, there should be stronger sanctions against them than just having their account deleted. They're committing fraud; let's prosecute them for fraud. They'll knock it off when there are real consequences to their actions.
It's time for parents to stop being lazy in their duties as parents and start monitoring their children's Internet activities. Too inconvenient? Sorry, but no one said being a parent was easy. Get off your ass and get over it.
As for the sexual predators, they're going to go where the kids are: malls, chat rooms, myspace, facebook, fast food restaurants, ball games, school functions, etc. Shutting down anything is not going to solve the problem.
Any tool or service can be used for good or bad. It's up to us to determine how it should be used.
Someone named Nathan Tabor has published a story about the evils of MySpace.com and how MySpace.com is the "Latest Danger in Cyberworld."
This is my response to his and other stories on the so-called evil MySpace.com:
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for teenage girls who willingly lie about their age and post provocative pictures of themselves. Nobody forced them to open an account.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for sexual predators stalking underage children. Just because the site exists doesn't give the predators an excuse as to why they pursue underage teens.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for the ills of the Internet community spilling over into our society.
It is time to stop pointing fingers at everyone and everything instead of pointing fingers at those who misuse a service to misbehave. It's time to start holding the offenders accountable for their actions. When the youngsters who lie on MySpace get caught, there should be stronger sanctions against them than just having their account deleted. They're committing fraud; let's prosecute them for fraud. They'll knock it off when there are real consequences to their actions.
It's time for parents to stop being lazy in their duties as parents and start monitoring their children's Internet activities. Too inconvenient? Sorry, but no one said being a parent was easy. Get off your ass and get over it.
As for the sexual predators, they're going to go where the kids are: malls, chat rooms, myspace, facebook, fast food restaurants, ball games, school functions, etc. Shutting down anything is not going to solve the problem.
Any tool or service can be used for good or bad. It's up to us to determine how it should be used.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Ten Years Ago
Where were you in life ten years ago?
I'm looking back to how my life has changed. I was still living in Atlanta, Georgia. I had washed myself from an abusive casual relationship, finally made enough money from my full-time job to quit my part-time job, looked forward to the 1996 Olympics, and worked on documenting my video diary. I didn't have a car, but I was lucky enough to be our job's vanpool coordinator, so I had transportation to and from work. I had to scrape pennies, but I had my own place and lived by my own rules. I had heard of the Internet, but I had never seen it.
Now, my income has more than doubled, and I enjoy putting money into savings every payday. I own two vehicles and live in a nice home ... not an apartment. Since I moved back to Waycross, I have a lot more friends, and I certainly enjoy getting out more. Not only have I been to the Internet, but I'm achieving my goals of featuring my writing. In addition, I have now discovered web design and graphics.
Am I better off now than I was ten years ago? Oh hell yes!
I'm looking back to how my life has changed. I was still living in Atlanta, Georgia. I had washed myself from an abusive casual relationship, finally made enough money from my full-time job to quit my part-time job, looked forward to the 1996 Olympics, and worked on documenting my video diary. I didn't have a car, but I was lucky enough to be our job's vanpool coordinator, so I had transportation to and from work. I had to scrape pennies, but I had my own place and lived by my own rules. I had heard of the Internet, but I had never seen it.
Now, my income has more than doubled, and I enjoy putting money into savings every payday. I own two vehicles and live in a nice home ... not an apartment. Since I moved back to Waycross, I have a lot more friends, and I certainly enjoy getting out more. Not only have I been to the Internet, but I'm achieving my goals of featuring my writing. In addition, I have now discovered web design and graphics.
Am I better off now than I was ten years ago? Oh hell yes!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
What Part of "Leave Me Alone" Don't You Understand?
I'm not sure how to handle this situation.
Earlier this week, I received a MySpace message from someone who has been instructed in the past not to contact me. I did not read the message; I deleted it.
This person and I have a mutual friend. I've already reprimanded this friend in the past for encouraging this person to contact me. I have a feeling this friend is doing it again. Perhaps they feel that since my mother died last January, it's "safe" to try to contact me again.
In the past, this person had an unintentional knack for getting into trouble and involving anyone this person hung around with. Now, I work for the Georgia Department of Corrections ... a law-enforcement agency. I am not supposed to have ANY personal or business dealings with inmates, parolees, nor probationers. A couple of this person's friends at the time fit into two of these catagories and put me in situations in which I could have lost my job.
This person also had a tendency to retell a story that wasn't what was originally said. For example, if I were to say, "We had almost 2 feet of snow," this person would retell what I said as, "Michelle said they had over 2 feet of snow." I won't go into further detail because it is not my intention to embarrass or shame this person.
The final straw was when this person and a couple of friends did something that my dad informed me was a federal offense. When I informed this person of what Dad told me, the reply I got was to the effect of, "They don't care; everyone does it." Because of this person's behavior, I was told by my family and a long time friend that I would be disowned if I have anything to do with this person. I lost my mother last Janary; I'm not about to lose my dad, my sister, my best friend, and my job just because someone won't take "leave me alone," for an answer.
I don't wish this person ill will. I honestly want this person to be happy, have many friends, and have a fulfilling, wonderful life. However, I want this person to never contact me again.
I have considered contacting my lawyer about getting a restraining order, but I'm going to wait and see what happens.
Earlier this week, I received a MySpace message from someone who has been instructed in the past not to contact me. I did not read the message; I deleted it.
This person and I have a mutual friend. I've already reprimanded this friend in the past for encouraging this person to contact me. I have a feeling this friend is doing it again. Perhaps they feel that since my mother died last January, it's "safe" to try to contact me again.
In the past, this person had an unintentional knack for getting into trouble and involving anyone this person hung around with. Now, I work for the Georgia Department of Corrections ... a law-enforcement agency. I am not supposed to have ANY personal or business dealings with inmates, parolees, nor probationers. A couple of this person's friends at the time fit into two of these catagories and put me in situations in which I could have lost my job.
This person also had a tendency to retell a story that wasn't what was originally said. For example, if I were to say, "We had almost 2 feet of snow," this person would retell what I said as, "Michelle said they had over 2 feet of snow." I won't go into further detail because it is not my intention to embarrass or shame this person.
The final straw was when this person and a couple of friends did something that my dad informed me was a federal offense. When I informed this person of what Dad told me, the reply I got was to the effect of, "They don't care; everyone does it." Because of this person's behavior, I was told by my family and a long time friend that I would be disowned if I have anything to do with this person. I lost my mother last Janary; I'm not about to lose my dad, my sister, my best friend, and my job just because someone won't take "leave me alone," for an answer.
I don't wish this person ill will. I honestly want this person to be happy, have many friends, and have a fulfilling, wonderful life. However, I want this person to never contact me again.
I have considered contacting my lawyer about getting a restraining order, but I'm going to wait and see what happens.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Yesterday's Immigrant "Strike"
Well, the "strike" has come and gone, but the massive "shutdown" never happened. They tried, but they failed to shut down any cities. Some parents kept their children home and some businesses closed, but that was mainly due to safety concerns stemming from the attitude some of the protesters were showing as the May 1 date drew closer.
Charlie Daniels said it best in these two entries from his Soapbox archives:
http://www.multimedia-interactive.com/cdb/view_topic.php?id=1125&forum_id=13
http://www.multimedia-interactive.com/cdb/view_topic.php?id=1187&forum_id=13
I don't know of any other way to say it. I agree with what he wrote 100 percent.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not close-minded, I'm not racist, and I'm not a hater. I live in (what I believe to be) the best country in the world, and I'm proud to call myself an American. I'm was raised in a military family and, I'm fiercely patriotic. I know my country has flaws, but no country is perfect.
I believe everyone who wants to come to our country to live should have every opportunity to do so, but for crying out loud, follow our laws!! That includes waiting your turn to come in legally. You want to become a citizen? Wonderful! I'd love to have you as a neighbor! Just learn our language before you take the oath of citizenship. You'd be expected to do the same in other countries. Ours should be no exception.
That's how I feel ... pure and simple.
Charlie Daniels said it best in these two entries from his Soapbox archives:
http://www.multimedia-interactive.com/cdb/view_topic.php?id=1125&forum_id=13
http://www.multimedia-interactive.com/cdb/view_topic.php?id=1187&forum_id=13
I don't know of any other way to say it. I agree with what he wrote 100 percent.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not close-minded, I'm not racist, and I'm not a hater. I live in (what I believe to be) the best country in the world, and I'm proud to call myself an American. I'm was raised in a military family and, I'm fiercely patriotic. I know my country has flaws, but no country is perfect.
I believe everyone who wants to come to our country to live should have every opportunity to do so, but for crying out loud, follow our laws!! That includes waiting your turn to come in legally. You want to become a citizen? Wonderful! I'd love to have you as a neighbor! Just learn our language before you take the oath of citizenship. You'd be expected to do the same in other countries. Ours should be no exception.
That's how I feel ... pure and simple.
Monday, April 24, 2006
My First Visit to OHS
Anyone who knows me know that the Okefenokee Humane Society (OHS) is an organization that I believe in with all my heart. After working on their web site for nearly a year, I finally got a chance to visit and meet the staff.
I was impressed. The place was so clean; if there were any odors, I didn't notice any. Bonnie and Kaye were busy with the phones or people coming in, but they still managed to chat with me in-between. When Mary came in, I was admiring her rubber boots. They weren't boring black, oh no! They were striped with bright spring-like colors. Totally cool!!
I witnessed a couple bringing in their dog that they reluctantly had to give up. It was an older dog, and he was too rough for their toddler son. The husband had to walk outside because he was on the verge of tears. My heart went out to him. His wife was taking it better than he was.
There's a dog that I saw whose hind legs are paralyzed. She's just as cute as she can be, so friendly and loving. A wonderful disposition. Just a huggable ball of fur. I wanted to take her home with me, but Munchkin wouldn't appreciate it. Because of the way this little cutie was dragging her hind end as she walked (and this little one can move fast, let me tell you!), the staff named her "Drag Queen."
We got the ball rolling in getting PayPal set up so donations can be accepted online. It will probably be the end of the week before everything is confirmed, and we get the PayPal codes put in place.
God bless the staff at OHS for what they do.
Please visit their site at http://www.okefenokeehumanesociety.org.
I was impressed. The place was so clean; if there were any odors, I didn't notice any. Bonnie and Kaye were busy with the phones or people coming in, but they still managed to chat with me in-between. When Mary came in, I was admiring her rubber boots. They weren't boring black, oh no! They were striped with bright spring-like colors. Totally cool!!
I witnessed a couple bringing in their dog that they reluctantly had to give up. It was an older dog, and he was too rough for their toddler son. The husband had to walk outside because he was on the verge of tears. My heart went out to him. His wife was taking it better than he was.
There's a dog that I saw whose hind legs are paralyzed. She's just as cute as she can be, so friendly and loving. A wonderful disposition. Just a huggable ball of fur. I wanted to take her home with me, but Munchkin wouldn't appreciate it. Because of the way this little cutie was dragging her hind end as she walked (and this little one can move fast, let me tell you!), the staff named her "Drag Queen."
We got the ball rolling in getting PayPal set up so donations can be accepted online. It will probably be the end of the week before everything is confirmed, and we get the PayPal codes put in place.
God bless the staff at OHS for what they do.
Please visit their site at http://www.okefenokeehumanesociety.org.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Gumby Slippers! At Long Last!
Patience and perserverence paid off as I finally found and won an eBay auction featuring a pair of large Gumby Slippers! They came in Friday, and I was tickled pink to see the fuzzy green slippers with the head of Gumby prominently displayed at the front.
Something I didn't count on when I received the slippers ... Munchkin's interest in them. To her, they look, smell, and feel like one of her stuffed toys. Imagine my dismay when what I viewed as innocent curious sniffing changed into a Cujo-like clamping on poor Gumby's head on my left foot. I kept yelling, "No!" and slapping Munchkin to make her let go of my slipper (with my foot in it, mind you). She would not let go. In desperation, I took a fork and started to poke (not stab) her nose with it to make her let go, all the time yelling, "No!" Munchkin was not letting go. In fact, she started tugging on it. I put the fork down and was at a loss as to how to get her to let go of my slipper. I started thinking, "I can sort of imagine how a dog attack victim must feel when you try to beat on the dog, but the dog won't let go." As quickly as it started, Munchkin released her grip, and I was able to pull my foot (and therefore my slipper) away from her reach. Poor Gumby. Damn dog.
Something I didn't count on when I received the slippers ... Munchkin's interest in them. To her, they look, smell, and feel like one of her stuffed toys. Imagine my dismay when what I viewed as innocent curious sniffing changed into a Cujo-like clamping on poor Gumby's head on my left foot. I kept yelling, "No!" and slapping Munchkin to make her let go of my slipper (with my foot in it, mind you). She would not let go. In desperation, I took a fork and started to poke (not stab) her nose with it to make her let go, all the time yelling, "No!" Munchkin was not letting go. In fact, she started tugging on it. I put the fork down and was at a loss as to how to get her to let go of my slipper. I started thinking, "I can sort of imagine how a dog attack victim must feel when you try to beat on the dog, but the dog won't let go." As quickly as it started, Munchkin released her grip, and I was able to pull my foot (and therefore my slipper) away from her reach. Poor Gumby. Damn dog.
My friend Soul Sister will tell you how I kept talking myself out of buying them when I first saw them at the Spencer Gifts store at Southlake Mall in Morrow, Georgia back in 1987. I wanted them, but my budget guilted me into not getting them. Fast forward to 2004. I made up my mind that I was going to find a pair, and when I did, I was going to get them.
Needless to say, they were hard to find. When a pair did show up on eBay, it was either too expensive (sorry, I'm not paying $50.00 for them), the seller didn't have a good feedback history, or they were not the right size (I needed a size 9-10). I'm am reminded once in a while that if I'm patient, I will find what I want at the price that I want by a seller who is reliable.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Playing with New Plug-In Programs
I finally got my new laptop, and I wanted to load all the media programs on to it from my desktop computer. Strange, it seems some installation programs that I know I had saved have disappeared. Do programmers cause their files to self-destruct so we have to go and buy new licenses?
Anyway, I went to flamingpear.com and repurchased the license for SuperBladePro. I also decided to get the licenses for Flood, Glitterati, SolarCell, and LunarCell. This is the first chance I've had to play with them, and I think I'm going to like these programs. I created this picture using Glitterati first, then SolarCell, then LunarCell. I put the finishing touch on the picture by using the sunburst effect over the solar flare.
Download: 1024 x 768 or 800 x 600
Who knows? I might share more later. I had fun creating this.
Anyway, I went to flamingpear.com and repurchased the license for SuperBladePro. I also decided to get the licenses for Flood, Glitterati, SolarCell, and LunarCell. This is the first chance I've had to play with them, and I think I'm going to like these programs. I created this picture using Glitterati first, then SolarCell, then LunarCell. I put the finishing touch on the picture by using the sunburst effect over the solar flare.
Download: 1024 x 768 or 800 x 600
Who knows? I might share more later. I had fun creating this.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Server Upgrade
The server that hosts this site is being upgraded. No updates will be posted until Friday, April 21, 2006.
UPDATE 4/23/06: Oh boy! What an upgrade! I'm getting more web space and bandwidth and having to pay less money! I love GoDaddy.com!!
UPDATE 4/23/06: Oh boy! What an upgrade! I'm getting more web space and bandwidth and having to pay less money! I love GoDaddy.com!!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
First Easter
This was our first Easter without Mom, and I wanted it to be a little different from previous Easter dinners. I invited Aunt Mavis over, so it was just the three of us: Aunt Mavis, Dad, and me.
I was not going to do like Mom did in the past and stress myself out over making a huge dinner. I refused to get up early in the morning and spend hours in the kitchen preparing food. I still don't know what took her so long to make certain things because I was able to have dinner ready in less than an hour. Honestly, I think Mom piddled in the kitchen more than anything else. The only thing I needed to do ahead of time was the ham. Once it was in the oven, everything else could be done 30 minutes before serving. I decided the menu would be honey-glazed ham, garlic mashed potatoes (I added some dehydrated garlic and red bell pepper stir fry seasoning) with gravy, and green bean casserole (yes, the kind with cream of mushroom soup and those crunchy french fried onions as the topping). I forgot to bake biscuits, but I don't think anyone really missed them.
Just for the heck of it, I secretly bought two baskets, two small bags with plastic hollow camouflage eggs (8 green and 8 pink), and two bags of chocolate football-shaped candy. I filled the eggs with the chocolate, then put the eggs in the baskets. Poor Dad. He felt so bad that he didn't get me anything for Easter. I told him that having dinner with him was gift enough.
It was nice, but a little weird. Not once was Mom brought up in conversation. I'm not sure why.
Meanwhile, I've got a lot of leftover ham that needs something to be done with. Time to break out the vacuum sealer.
One more note: today is a good friend's birthday. I haven't been able to contact her for quite some time, but she is still on my mind. I hope she is reading this, is doing well, and knows that I remembered her birthday.
I was not going to do like Mom did in the past and stress myself out over making a huge dinner. I refused to get up early in the morning and spend hours in the kitchen preparing food. I still don't know what took her so long to make certain things because I was able to have dinner ready in less than an hour. Honestly, I think Mom piddled in the kitchen more than anything else. The only thing I needed to do ahead of time was the ham. Once it was in the oven, everything else could be done 30 minutes before serving. I decided the menu would be honey-glazed ham, garlic mashed potatoes (I added some dehydrated garlic and red bell pepper stir fry seasoning) with gravy, and green bean casserole (yes, the kind with cream of mushroom soup and those crunchy french fried onions as the topping). I forgot to bake biscuits, but I don't think anyone really missed them.
Just for the heck of it, I secretly bought two baskets, two small bags with plastic hollow camouflage eggs (8 green and 8 pink), and two bags of chocolate football-shaped candy. I filled the eggs with the chocolate, then put the eggs in the baskets. Poor Dad. He felt so bad that he didn't get me anything for Easter. I told him that having dinner with him was gift enough.
It was nice, but a little weird. Not once was Mom brought up in conversation. I'm not sure why.
Meanwhile, I've got a lot of leftover ham that needs something to be done with. Time to break out the vacuum sealer.
One more note: today is a good friend's birthday. I haven't been able to contact her for quite some time, but she is still on my mind. I hope she is reading this, is doing well, and knows that I remembered her birthday.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Old VCRs
Does anyone here own a particular VCR longer than five years? Ten years? Fifteen years?
We have five VCRs in the house: one is 17 years old, one is 16 years old, two are at least ten years old, and one is six months old. I'm seriously considering trashing a couple of them because they've become tape-eaters. One of those tape-eaters is hooked up to the main computer.
The price of VCRs have come down considerably. I remember when you had to pay as much as $600 for one. Now you can get one for less than $50. The six month old one is a combination VCR/DVD recorder. I haven't had a chance to hook it up yet, but I really need to because the others are not quite functioning well.
The remote controls for the two ten-year-old VCRs don't work. Not a good time to find this out as I was getting ready to record a show for my favorite fan site this morning. Yes, we changed the batteries, and the remotes still didn't work. Thank goodness for universal remotes. Unfortunately, I still can't get the menu option to work. That means I can't set the time, change the recording tape speed, or program the VCR. Grrrrr!!
One thing about our VCRs. They don't wear out. They die of old age. :-P
We have five VCRs in the house: one is 17 years old, one is 16 years old, two are at least ten years old, and one is six months old. I'm seriously considering trashing a couple of them because they've become tape-eaters. One of those tape-eaters is hooked up to the main computer.
The price of VCRs have come down considerably. I remember when you had to pay as much as $600 for one. Now you can get one for less than $50. The six month old one is a combination VCR/DVD recorder. I haven't had a chance to hook it up yet, but I really need to because the others are not quite functioning well.
The remote controls for the two ten-year-old VCRs don't work. Not a good time to find this out as I was getting ready to record a show for my favorite fan site this morning. Yes, we changed the batteries, and the remotes still didn't work. Thank goodness for universal remotes. Unfortunately, I still can't get the menu option to work. That means I can't set the time, change the recording tape speed, or program the VCR. Grrrrr!!
One thing about our VCRs. They don't wear out. They die of old age. :-P
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The Making of The Return
Have you ever left someplace that you loved and vowed that you would go back one day, even if it was just for a visit? After 30 years, that time has come.
When I was nearly 4 years old, my dad was stationed for six years at NAS Miramar (now a marine base) north of San Diego, California. When he retired, my sister had one more year of high school. We rented a house until she graduated. For some reason, I believed we were going to stay in San Diego. It never occurred to me until they told me we were moving all the way across the United States to a state that I had barely heard of. When we moved from San Diego in July 1975, I felt like life as I knew it was ending and another one was beginning. It was like the first 10 years of my life ceased to exist.
We were moving to Waycross, Georgia -- a completely unfamiliar environment. Instead of being surrounded by mountains and mesas, I would be surrounded by trees. Instead of experiencing 12 months of temperate weather conditions, I would experience dramatic changes in the seasons. Instead of meeting people from multi-cultural backgrounds, I would be meeting people whose ancestral lineage never strayed further than a few miles from where they currently reside.
I had trouble adjusting to my new environment. It was the middle of summer. The heat and humidity made me horribly uncomfortable. In addition, my body chemistry attracted the mosquitos. Because my body was not accustomed to the onslaught of mosquito bites I was subjected to, I became physically ill. I was having an allergic reaction to the mosquitoes' saliva. I had so many red, itchy bumps on me, I felt and looked like I was having another attack of chicken pox.
Despite the traumatic first few months, I eventually settled down and started to get used to where I lived and the people I met. You don't live someplace for 20-something years and not grow to love your environment. I still miss the weather San Diego had, but the friends I've made here are irreplaceable.
I'm planning the trip for later in the year as I'll be making a couple of stops along the way. This is a major thing for me, like one of those life-event moments. It's something I've been wanting to do ever since we left California. I know it won't be the same as when I left, but I w0uld like to revisit a couple of places we lived, go to the beach, and visit a family whose past kindnesses I will never forget.
More to follow in the months ahead.
When I was nearly 4 years old, my dad was stationed for six years at NAS Miramar (now a marine base) north of San Diego, California. When he retired, my sister had one more year of high school. We rented a house until she graduated. For some reason, I believed we were going to stay in San Diego. It never occurred to me until they told me we were moving all the way across the United States to a state that I had barely heard of. When we moved from San Diego in July 1975, I felt like life as I knew it was ending and another one was beginning. It was like the first 10 years of my life ceased to exist.
We were moving to Waycross, Georgia -- a completely unfamiliar environment. Instead of being surrounded by mountains and mesas, I would be surrounded by trees. Instead of experiencing 12 months of temperate weather conditions, I would experience dramatic changes in the seasons. Instead of meeting people from multi-cultural backgrounds, I would be meeting people whose ancestral lineage never strayed further than a few miles from where they currently reside.
I had trouble adjusting to my new environment. It was the middle of summer. The heat and humidity made me horribly uncomfortable. In addition, my body chemistry attracted the mosquitos. Because my body was not accustomed to the onslaught of mosquito bites I was subjected to, I became physically ill. I was having an allergic reaction to the mosquitoes' saliva. I had so many red, itchy bumps on me, I felt and looked like I was having another attack of chicken pox.
Despite the traumatic first few months, I eventually settled down and started to get used to where I lived and the people I met. You don't live someplace for 20-something years and not grow to love your environment. I still miss the weather San Diego had, but the friends I've made here are irreplaceable.
I'm planning the trip for later in the year as I'll be making a couple of stops along the way. This is a major thing for me, like one of those life-event moments. It's something I've been wanting to do ever since we left California. I know it won't be the same as when I left, but I w0uld like to revisit a couple of places we lived, go to the beach, and visit a family whose past kindnesses I will never forget.
More to follow in the months ahead.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Rest in Peace, Mom
I know it's been a long time since my last post. Psychologically and emotionally, I have not been myself.
On January 3, 2006, my mother passed away. Her online memorial can be viewed by clicking here. Even now, I watch the video tribute and still have to wipe away tears. I don't know if it's the music or the pictures or both ... I think both.
Now that she's passed on, I can reveal that the people I've referred to as Fred and Drusilla in my blog entry here were really my mom and dad. No, that wasn't their real names. My dad's name is Linder and my mother's name was Lynette. I felt the compulsion to express my feelings about the situation I was in, but I tried to respect her privacy at the same time.
Mom was so sick. I could only guess how bad she felt, but to see her go through her physical ailments deeply saddened me. There's something about pain that does something to the sufferer's psychological thinking. I guess Mom hurt bad enough that she felt she didn't deserve to be loved and cared for. Many times, she lashed out at dad, my sister, and me for whatever we did or didn't do. Later, she'd thank us profusely for doing something that gave her relief from an acutely painful position or condition.
Since my entry back in August 2004, she did go to a nursing home for about three months so she could learn to walk again. She came home December 2004, walking on her own with the aid of a walker and vowing never to go back to a nursing home again. Don't get me wrong; she was treated very well at Baptist Village. She just didn't like being hospitalized. As time went by, there were times that her blood sugar would drop too low or she'd become so sick that she risked the danger of dehydration. When she realized we were calling an ambulance for those times, she'd do her darndest to pretend she was lucid. She might have been able to fool us, but the medical technicians weren't so easily fooled.
Thank God we were able to have a good Christmas. I cooked dinner, and everyone seemed able to enjoy their meal, including Mom. She was alert and in a fairly good mood, considering her condition. It was the last day that she was able to eat a meal.
It's so hard to see a loved one suffer. It's harder to have to make any decisions against the wishes of a parent. On December 28, Mom's health deteriorated to the point that we felt she needed medical intervention. She was severely dehydrated and exhausted from throwing up. Her blood sugar level had dropped to the 30s (not good). My dad, my sister and I discussed and agreed that we needed to call 911. We went back into the bedroom to inform Mom of our decision. She protested. I stood there at the foot of her bed, looking at Dad and my sister alternately. We tried to convince her that we wanted to her to feel better and avoid further complications. She kept saying she was tired and didn't want to go to the hospital. After several seconds of silence, I said, "Okay, I'm making the decision, and I'm going to call 911.
As I walked out of the bedroom, I could still hear her begging me to wait and not call for an ambulance. If I didn't call for an ambulance and she died at the house, I would have wondered if I killed her by not acting soon enough. It was so hard dialing 911 when she begged in the background, "Please, don't call them. Let's wait." Calling the ambulance that day, as much as Mom protested, was the right thing to do. However, it still felt like the lesser of the two evils. It still felt like damned if you do, and damned if you don't.
The ambulance arrived and the technicians checked her over. They both agreed that she needed to go to the emergency room. We had done this so often with Mom that I figured she'd be back home in a couple of days. Instead, it was the last time I got to hear Mom's voice.
At the emergency room, the nurses realized just how sick she was and worked to get Mom rehydrated. Many residents of Waycross became ill with the flu and filled the hospital to capacity. Mom was admitted, but she had to spend the night in one of the ER rooms. The staff managed to bring a hospital air bed to her room so she'd be more comfortable.
The next day, she was moved to CCU. She still couldn't eat, but she could sip on water and eat ice chips. The doctors and nurses monitored her vital signs. Dad and my sister were taking turns sitting with Mom. I was still had to go to work with 10-hour shifts and 1 hour commute each way. I figured I could see Mom Saturday at the hospital, then she'd be home in a few days. I was so wrong.
Friday evening, I was on the road heading home when my cell phone rang. It was my sister, suggesting that I come by the hospital to see Mom. I told her that would be no problem and started asking some questions about Mom. My sister was evasive ... I knew something wasn't right. I asked her to tell me flat out what was wrong, and she would not give me a straight answer. I really hate it when people do that to me.
I arrived in CCU and saw my dad and sister standing at the foot of Mom's bed. Mom had been placed into an induced coma so they could put her on a respirator. My family turned and saw me, and asked me to go with them into another room ... out of earshot of Mom. In the other room, my sister told me that Mom was suffering from septic shock. I asked if that meant blood poisoning. She clarified that it is a type of blood infection in which the infection starts to attack the organs in the body. She told me that the doctors were going to try a last-ditch effort to save Mom by putting her on a respirator and giving her antibiotics to fight the infection. She quickly added that Mom's chances were pretty slim. I asked if that meant she was terminal. I looked at both my dad and sister as they nodded their heads.
Walking back into Mom's room, I quickly noticed how her complexion and overall skin color had pinked up. Her face was so relaxed. Between the oxygen and the medication, Mom wasn't suffering. She looked so peaceful. Dad showed me her legs. The month before at the doctor's office, I insisted that Mom show the doctor her feet. Reluctantly, Mom took off her shoes, and what I saw shocked me. Mom's legs and feet were purple! It looked as if her blood was pooling up in her lower limbs. With that scene in my mind, her legs looked much better in the CCU. After an hour, I went home to feed the dog. Dad and my sister said they'd be home in a little bit.
Saturday, I agreed to stay home and do some housework while Dad and my sister went back to the CCU. Mom seemed to be stabilizing. Sunday morning, however, was a different story. The medical staff at the CCU called us and told us her vital signs were becoming very unstable and strongly believed we needed to get over there. Dad and my sister let me sleep while they got dressed and went to see about Mom. Thirty minutes after they got there, they called me and suggested I get there as soon as I could. I was there within 45 minutes. I met Aunt Mavis there, too. It was New Year's Day, and we were expecting the worst. We had some touch-and-go moments, but Mom still hung on. After ten hours of waiting and anticipating, we decided to go home for the night. We all went to bed shortly afterward; we were drained.
Monday was a holiday, so I didn't have to go to work. However, I had several things I had to do to get ready for work, so I stayed home while Dad and my sister took turns sitting with Mom. By this time, we had all signed the updated Do Not Resusitate order which included the removal of the respirator and almost all of her IV fluids. Dad and Pamela both asked the doctor if Mom had any chance at all, and he said no. With this information, we agreed to let her go.
I was at work Tuesday when Pamela called me at work. She asked to speak to my supervisor first to give him a heads up on the news. He was standing at the doorway when she told me on the phone that Mom passed away at 2:15 PM. She stopped breathing, then her heart stopped beating a few minutes after. When I got off the phone, my exact words were, "It's over."
My supervisor stared at me. He told me it was okay to cry. I told him I was fine. He said that it was okay to slam my fist on the desk, throw something, scream out loud ... I told him I really was okay. He said I didn't have to put on a brave front, that it was okay to be emotional. I told him that all I felt at that moment was overwhelming relief. Mom wasn't suffering any more. She wasn't in any more pain; no more anguish. She was finally free. I was finally free. It was hell watching someone you love suffer and be miserable. It's bad when you'd be willing to do just about anything ... compromise your principles, lie, cheat, steal, maybe even kill ... to give your loved one relief. No, I couldn't feel anything at that moment except the ecstacy of relief. I think I scared him. I actually scared myself.
Since then, the grief has hit, and it hits without warning. Someone will ask me how I'm doing, and the tears will start rolling down my cheeks. I actually started crying in the middle of a staff meeting at work! Do you know how humiliating that is? I don't know how to describe how I feel. It's like I'm just going through the motions, like I'm lost. Since Mom's health severely declined last November, I've neglected the OHS site, Swamp Country Lolita's site, the GSIDIOT site ... it's been over a month since the funeral, and I haven't started on the thank you cards yet. I am so grateful for everyone's love and support during this time. The sympathy cards, the hugs, the words of encouragement, the phone calls, the e-mails, the food that was prepared and brought to the house, the flowers, the plants ... I hope these people know how humbled I was by their responses to Mom's passing. I think about their graciousness, their thoughtfulness, their friendships, and the tears overwhelm me.
I've been working on this entry for five hours, and now I'm going to bed. I don't want to go to work in the morning. All I want to do anymore is sleep or piddle around the house. Things will get better, won't they?
On January 3, 2006, my mother passed away. Her online memorial can be viewed by clicking here. Even now, I watch the video tribute and still have to wipe away tears. I don't know if it's the music or the pictures or both ... I think both.
Now that she's passed on, I can reveal that the people I've referred to as Fred and Drusilla in my blog entry here were really my mom and dad. No, that wasn't their real names. My dad's name is Linder and my mother's name was Lynette. I felt the compulsion to express my feelings about the situation I was in, but I tried to respect her privacy at the same time.
Mom was so sick. I could only guess how bad she felt, but to see her go through her physical ailments deeply saddened me. There's something about pain that does something to the sufferer's psychological thinking. I guess Mom hurt bad enough that she felt she didn't deserve to be loved and cared for. Many times, she lashed out at dad, my sister, and me for whatever we did or didn't do. Later, she'd thank us profusely for doing something that gave her relief from an acutely painful position or condition.
Since my entry back in August 2004, she did go to a nursing home for about three months so she could learn to walk again. She came home December 2004, walking on her own with the aid of a walker and vowing never to go back to a nursing home again. Don't get me wrong; she was treated very well at Baptist Village. She just didn't like being hospitalized. As time went by, there were times that her blood sugar would drop too low or she'd become so sick that she risked the danger of dehydration. When she realized we were calling an ambulance for those times, she'd do her darndest to pretend she was lucid. She might have been able to fool us, but the medical technicians weren't so easily fooled.
Thank God we were able to have a good Christmas. I cooked dinner, and everyone seemed able to enjoy their meal, including Mom. She was alert and in a fairly good mood, considering her condition. It was the last day that she was able to eat a meal.
It's so hard to see a loved one suffer. It's harder to have to make any decisions against the wishes of a parent. On December 28, Mom's health deteriorated to the point that we felt she needed medical intervention. She was severely dehydrated and exhausted from throwing up. Her blood sugar level had dropped to the 30s (not good). My dad, my sister and I discussed and agreed that we needed to call 911. We went back into the bedroom to inform Mom of our decision. She protested. I stood there at the foot of her bed, looking at Dad and my sister alternately. We tried to convince her that we wanted to her to feel better and avoid further complications. She kept saying she was tired and didn't want to go to the hospital. After several seconds of silence, I said, "Okay, I'm making the decision, and I'm going to call 911.
As I walked out of the bedroom, I could still hear her begging me to wait and not call for an ambulance. If I didn't call for an ambulance and she died at the house, I would have wondered if I killed her by not acting soon enough. It was so hard dialing 911 when she begged in the background, "Please, don't call them. Let's wait." Calling the ambulance that day, as much as Mom protested, was the right thing to do. However, it still felt like the lesser of the two evils. It still felt like damned if you do, and damned if you don't.
The ambulance arrived and the technicians checked her over. They both agreed that she needed to go to the emergency room. We had done this so often with Mom that I figured she'd be back home in a couple of days. Instead, it was the last time I got to hear Mom's voice.
At the emergency room, the nurses realized just how sick she was and worked to get Mom rehydrated. Many residents of Waycross became ill with the flu and filled the hospital to capacity. Mom was admitted, but she had to spend the night in one of the ER rooms. The staff managed to bring a hospital air bed to her room so she'd be more comfortable.
The next day, she was moved to CCU. She still couldn't eat, but she could sip on water and eat ice chips. The doctors and nurses monitored her vital signs. Dad and my sister were taking turns sitting with Mom. I was still had to go to work with 10-hour shifts and 1 hour commute each way. I figured I could see Mom Saturday at the hospital, then she'd be home in a few days. I was so wrong.
Friday evening, I was on the road heading home when my cell phone rang. It was my sister, suggesting that I come by the hospital to see Mom. I told her that would be no problem and started asking some questions about Mom. My sister was evasive ... I knew something wasn't right. I asked her to tell me flat out what was wrong, and she would not give me a straight answer. I really hate it when people do that to me.
I arrived in CCU and saw my dad and sister standing at the foot of Mom's bed. Mom had been placed into an induced coma so they could put her on a respirator. My family turned and saw me, and asked me to go with them into another room ... out of earshot of Mom. In the other room, my sister told me that Mom was suffering from septic shock. I asked if that meant blood poisoning. She clarified that it is a type of blood infection in which the infection starts to attack the organs in the body. She told me that the doctors were going to try a last-ditch effort to save Mom by putting her on a respirator and giving her antibiotics to fight the infection. She quickly added that Mom's chances were pretty slim. I asked if that meant she was terminal. I looked at both my dad and sister as they nodded their heads.
Walking back into Mom's room, I quickly noticed how her complexion and overall skin color had pinked up. Her face was so relaxed. Between the oxygen and the medication, Mom wasn't suffering. She looked so peaceful. Dad showed me her legs. The month before at the doctor's office, I insisted that Mom show the doctor her feet. Reluctantly, Mom took off her shoes, and what I saw shocked me. Mom's legs and feet were purple! It looked as if her blood was pooling up in her lower limbs. With that scene in my mind, her legs looked much better in the CCU. After an hour, I went home to feed the dog. Dad and my sister said they'd be home in a little bit.
Saturday, I agreed to stay home and do some housework while Dad and my sister went back to the CCU. Mom seemed to be stabilizing. Sunday morning, however, was a different story. The medical staff at the CCU called us and told us her vital signs were becoming very unstable and strongly believed we needed to get over there. Dad and my sister let me sleep while they got dressed and went to see about Mom. Thirty minutes after they got there, they called me and suggested I get there as soon as I could. I was there within 45 minutes. I met Aunt Mavis there, too. It was New Year's Day, and we were expecting the worst. We had some touch-and-go moments, but Mom still hung on. After ten hours of waiting and anticipating, we decided to go home for the night. We all went to bed shortly afterward; we were drained.
Monday was a holiday, so I didn't have to go to work. However, I had several things I had to do to get ready for work, so I stayed home while Dad and my sister took turns sitting with Mom. By this time, we had all signed the updated Do Not Resusitate order which included the removal of the respirator and almost all of her IV fluids. Dad and Pamela both asked the doctor if Mom had any chance at all, and he said no. With this information, we agreed to let her go.
I was at work Tuesday when Pamela called me at work. She asked to speak to my supervisor first to give him a heads up on the news. He was standing at the doorway when she told me on the phone that Mom passed away at 2:15 PM. She stopped breathing, then her heart stopped beating a few minutes after. When I got off the phone, my exact words were, "It's over."
My supervisor stared at me. He told me it was okay to cry. I told him I was fine. He said that it was okay to slam my fist on the desk, throw something, scream out loud ... I told him I really was okay. He said I didn't have to put on a brave front, that it was okay to be emotional. I told him that all I felt at that moment was overwhelming relief. Mom wasn't suffering any more. She wasn't in any more pain; no more anguish. She was finally free. I was finally free. It was hell watching someone you love suffer and be miserable. It's bad when you'd be willing to do just about anything ... compromise your principles, lie, cheat, steal, maybe even kill ... to give your loved one relief. No, I couldn't feel anything at that moment except the ecstacy of relief. I think I scared him. I actually scared myself.
Since then, the grief has hit, and it hits without warning. Someone will ask me how I'm doing, and the tears will start rolling down my cheeks. I actually started crying in the middle of a staff meeting at work! Do you know how humiliating that is? I don't know how to describe how I feel. It's like I'm just going through the motions, like I'm lost. Since Mom's health severely declined last November, I've neglected the OHS site, Swamp Country Lolita's site, the GSIDIOT site ... it's been over a month since the funeral, and I haven't started on the thank you cards yet. I am so grateful for everyone's love and support during this time. The sympathy cards, the hugs, the words of encouragement, the phone calls, the e-mails, the food that was prepared and brought to the house, the flowers, the plants ... I hope these people know how humbled I was by their responses to Mom's passing. I think about their graciousness, their thoughtfulness, their friendships, and the tears overwhelm me.
I've been working on this entry for five hours, and now I'm going to bed. I don't want to go to work in the morning. All I want to do anymore is sleep or piddle around the house. Things will get better, won't they?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)