Are you following your dreams, your passions?

The painting above was one my sisters both liked very much. June, my older sister, fell in love with it and had it in her house for a while. Gay has this one and most of my good  paintings.

Going into the painting class the first time, I was terrified. I had never attempted to use oil paint. But the once a week class became a passion that helped my self-esteem, helped me escape from real life, as I painted in class and painted at home, constantly improving until I could see my work was good.

In the 1970's I decided to take painting lessons with a lovely lady named Verna. Little did I know how much she would change my life. I was going through a rough time.

My mother and I had been closer than most mothers and daughters. I visited her almost every day and I could talk to her about everything. My mother had suffered a ruptured aneurysm in January 1975. We had recently moved into the house we always dreamed of building. Life was supposed to be good for us, but my mother needed me and I had vowed if she recovered from the cerebral hemorrhage that almost killed her, I would care for her the rest of her life. 

When she came home from the hospital after three months, she had no short term memory. She had to re-learn who her children were. It was a determined family that would not give up on her. Gay, my younger sister came and spent a month helping get Mother settled in at home. After my sister left, I became the one responsible for Mother's care. I was on call 24/7. I learned all I could about care giving, Mother's illness, diet and her medications. The weight of her care weighed heavily on my shoulders and on my mind.

Depressed and lonely, not working out of the home, I knew I needed to do something that would take me out of my everyday life. My husband's mother was an artist and we had a  number of her paintings in our new house. For a long time, I had thought about taking painting lessons. One day I called Verna and signed up for classes.

I used a little glassed in balcony in our new house high up in the trees as my painting studio. The north light was fabulous. I could leave my canvas on my easel and work on it as I had time. I  love oils for that reason. They take a long time to dry. 

My husband Barry loved my paintings. That pleased me, having grown up in a family where I seldom heard a compliment for anything. Verna asked me to help her judge an art show. I was  overjoyed with her confidence in my ability. It was a day I'll never forget. I still have a small gift I received that day. 

During the ten years of my Mother's illness and my life as a care giver, painting was my absolute passion. I donated a painting to a charity that held a sale at the  local mall. It sold for the price I put on it and, I heard, it was the only painting sold that day. 

Mother died in 1985. I was devastated. Grieving, I felt I had failed as her care giver. Also I was lost with no purpose for my daily life.  

I turned to my writing as  therapy, pouring out all my fears, my sadness, my memories. I stopped painting. It seemed I could not paint and write. This became a period of soul-searching, of deep introspection. My sorrow took over  my life.

In 1988, my father died. I was free to leave south Georgia and we did.

When I moved to our little house in the  mountains, I gave away most of my paintings.

I met and became part of an exciting writing community. I followed my other passion that I had nurtured all my life, writing.

Lately I have entertained ideas of painting again, twenty years after giving it up. I  never lost my eye for scenes I want to paint. I see them everywhere. I often try to capture them with a camera, but have not found the satisfaction I want. 

This is one of the my photographs that hangs on my wall.

My  woods in winter - taken from my deck

I hope we do get to live more than one life. It took me so long to get the courage to follow my dreams and do what I love to do. I think it would be so unfair if, just as I get to the place I can do all these things I love, I would have to leave.

Are you following your dreams, following your passions and doing what you most enjoy? Don't wait. Time flies so swiftly and before you know it, it is too late. I hope you are following your passion, your dream. 

Her child's pain is over, my friend begins the long journey of grief

I attended a funeral today. The service was for my dear friend's 50 year-old daughter. Although we have been friends for two decades, and I've heard much about her family, I didn't meet her daughter until a few weeks ago.

At the time, she was under Hospice care and living with her mother who was 24/7 caregiver. Although Penny was taking morphine for pain, still she had suggested to her mother that they begin having a friend over for a light meal once a week. I was the first friend invited. Sadly, as it turned out, I was also the last friend to come over for a meal with Penny and her mother.

But I will cherish that evening. The food was good and I always love being in my friend's house, but that night I really enjoyed getting to know Penny, the strongest and most determined person I have met in a long, long time. She had been fighting cancer for seven or eight years, working and raising two children. She also cared for her husband who is disabled until she could do no more. That was when her mother brought her home to live out the time she had left. 

What I learned about Penny that evening is that she had no qualms about talking about her illness and right away she made me comfortable. We discussed what she had been through in a matter of fact way with no emotion from her. She had endured some of the most embarrassing moments and periods of indignities, but she took it well.  She had a wry sense of humor and I am sure she kept the nurses on their toes when she was in the hospital. She had been dealing with this so long that she could tell them what she needed and when she needed it. Her doctor had told her she had a few months to live and she said she told him she would see him next year. That was the kind of attitude Penny had about living. 

She said she had the best Mom in the world and when I asked what growing up with her talented Mother was like, Penny said she was just an ordinary mom, who kept house, took care of the kids and was always there for them. "She didn't get into painting and all the other things she does now until after we were out of the house."

Seeing the struggle Penny had over the past few months and the heart-wrenching pain of a mother watching her child die, has affected me in many ways. How do you do that day after day, month after month? How do you sit with her and do something so mundane as play chess and then put her to bed and  try to make her comfortable with the morphine required to stop the "sawing pain in her legs?" 

How do you have any semblance of a normal life when your child is lying in the next room and any moment could be her last? You don't. But you have to find a way to live with it and continue to take care of her the very best you can. My friend said something I will never forget. She said she had stopped thinking "what can I do?" She stopped thinking of the sadness and pain and turned her mind to appreciating the joy of every moment they had left together. She tried to make each day as good as possible and to let herself think of how good it was to still have her there.

How do you ever rest when all night you wait for her movements that mean she needs more chemicals to block her senses. My dear friend cared for her husband until he passed away, and then her father who was diagnosed with cancer and died soon after with her lying on his bed beside him. Now her child is gone. Today at the funeral, which was such a loving and lovely service, it hit me so hard I could not talk to my grieving friend without breaking down. Within two years she lost three loved ones she had devoted herself to caring for. 

Within four years, I lost my husband and three siblings. All that pain came rushing back to me when I looked at her sad face as she walked down the aisle carrying her daughter's urn cradled in her arms as if it were a baby. Yes, it was her baby girl and the last time she would ever hold her. 

I pray for peace for my friend and all her family. They are loving people who will be there for each other. One day all this pain will lessen and one day she can smile and feel normal again, but it is a long journey and I hope that in some way I can be there and help her along the way. 

Another post you might want to read. It is the most popular post on this blog.

http://profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-do-you-want-to-be-remembered.html

What Defines Your Life? You Choose.

“What defines your life? Your days? What is your achievement? Whether it's running or writing or some other feat, own it. Don't make excuses for what you choose not to do. Enjoy to the fullest those things you choose to do.”  

             --- Funds for Writers Newsletter by C. Hope Clark, author of Lowcountry Bribe. 

 Hope Clark hit me square between the eyes today with the above lines. I complain that I don't have time to write a book or complete my next poetry collection, but I have time to answer all the e-mail I get on three different addresses, to read blogs and read magazines, and study writing in all forms. 

I have time to talk for an hour on the phone with my sister or friends, and I have time to research various items of interest on the Internet. I find the time to write posts for two personal blogs and to promote all my writer friends, but I just can’t find time to revise and organize those poems or focus on my book long enough to write the next chapter. 

I can spend too long on Facebook, which is probably my biggest waste of time, and I don’t even enjoy it. In fact the Internet is an addiction for me. I sometimes dread checking my e-mail because that seems to be the jumping off point where I lose myself. Instantly my best-laid plans fly into cyberspace and I, the junkie, am hooked on what is out there.

I have days, oh yes, days when I write and stick to my goals. I have about two hundred personal essays or memoir pieces written and stored in a file. Many of them could be published if only I would submit them. I ask myself now, as Hope says, what is defining my life?

I am a caregiver. That is part of my DNA. Recently, since my brother has been sick, I have been overly concerned about his care. I live five hours drive from him. There is little I can physically do for him. But I get a call from him and I hear his issues and wonder if anyone there is aware of what he needs. Can I be of help in some way? I can spend hours on the phone with doctors’ offices, social services or others who might have answers for helping a sick man and his wife who has dementia. 

I am presently holding the leadership role in our writing organization until a more permanent person is found. I did this already for two years when my husband was sick with cancer. Part of who I am is doing my best in any job, volunteer or paid position. So I try to promote our writers and write articles and reviews while I help new members adjust to our tried and true methods of running the group.

I keep the lines of communication open between our region and the director of the state writers’ network. Meanwhile, I have to hear complaints, squelch gossipy misinformation, and help out any volunteer who has a crisis. Thank God for the close friends who listen and console me when others find fault. 

Then, I do my own work of teaching and running my writing studio. I bring in writers and poets who teach various types of classes for the local literary community. Advertising and collecting fees, keeping the grounds and the building in adequate shape, all take much time and energy. I also mentor students, especially those who have talent and ability to one day publish their writing.

As Hope says, we all have the same 24 hours in each day. We make the decision as to what we do in that time. 

I think I have found from writing this post what is defining my life. Now I have to make some changes if I expect to be a writer. I have to be cold hearted about it and stop giving away my time when I should be using it for my passion - writing. 

What about you? What is defining your life?

We are all hurting in some way. What do we need?

This post was written a few weeks ago and saved in Draft. 

Just one year ago, we three sisters had our picture made in front of Gay's lovely mantel. As always we were so happy to be together.

Gay, June, Glenda at Christmas

We never know how long we will have the ones we love. Life is a fragile thing. Parents send their children off to school never imagining they might not return alive at the end of the day.

 We should not miss the opportunity to show our love when we can, in any way we can. Although our own lives become filled with busy projects, work, church, exercise, clubs, and so many things, let us stop and reflect on where our energy might best be spent. It gives me peace to know I am loved by my family and friends, and I want my family and friends to know I love them. Don't take for granted the ones closest to us. We must also take care of ourselves so that we can help take care of those we love.

I hope my sister Gay takes good care of herself in the coming months. I hope my nieces, Lee and Lyn, take care of themselves as well. And I hope Charlie takes care of himself as he makes another move and tries to pick up his life.
They all gave so much of themselves for June's well-being. Now they need special love and care. Caregivers often find it hard to go on with their lives after devoting so much of themselves to another. When I lost my mother after caring for her for a decade, I was bereft, lost in a world where I couldn't find my footing anymore. It took time and work to get myself on track again.

In spite of the horror we have seen the past few days about those precious children and dedicated teachers of Newtown, we must continue to love our fellow man. Try a little random act of kindness.
Everyone is hurting in some way.
It is very hard to be human in this world today.