Sunday Scribblings -- Left & Right or Post #2 of Day 11 of NaBloPoMo

You always stand on my left. In photos of the two of us, there you are on the left. It's an un-said agreement that you'll be to the left of me. You are left handed in every way. You sleep on the left side of the bed, you write with your left hand, you like the left side.

I'm always on the right. I write with my right hand, I eat with my right hand, I knit with my right. I stand to your right side. I like the right side.

This left & right thing seems to work for us. You on the left and me on the right. Luckily we meet in the middle on politics and other social beliefs.

Sunday Scribblings - Hospital

I walk slowly down the sterile walls turning and twisting with each step I take. The entrance now seems so far away as I edge closer and closer to your room. I pass one nurse's station and then another. I turn the corner and I can hear the doctors in your room along with the beeps and other sounds from all the machines keeping you company.

They called me earlier today. They said you were not going to get better even if we did place a feeding tube down your throat. I remembered what Mom told me, that you did not want a feeding tube if it was not going to help you. You did not want to be kept alive that way. As I spoke slowly and carefully to the doctor, I was glad to have this knowledge though it did not lessen the pain in any way. I had to tell them that we were going to let you slip away and request that they make it as pain-free as possible. Those words were barely able to slip past my tongue. I felt my throat tighten as I said them.

The next phone call I had to make was to Mom, your daughter. I had to tell her that you would be passing soon but that she had time to make it home. That part broke my heart more than having to say goodbye to you. For I know that you have lived a very long life and I am so happy that we have spent the last few years getting to know each other better. Our Sunday ritual of having breakfast is now done. I will never again spend three hours eating omelets with you. This part I can accept.

So I called Mom and I told her the news. She was calm and yet so upset. She said she would be home shortly. She said to tell you that she loved you and so here I am tonight telling you how much we all love you and that soon you will be with your wife, my Grandmother.

I sit here quietly in your dark room with the nurse's aid. I'm stroking your hand and you grasp my finger so tightly. You tell me that you want to escape. I know. Soon you will be able to escape to the next level, the next place. I can only wish that you find peace there.

You look so small as you lie on the bed. Fragility comes with death. One who was once tall and strong can be defeated by it. I know that but it is hard to see it in someone you love.

We sit quietly for a few hours before I must sadly go. I kiss you goodbye on the forehead and remind you that we all love you so much. I also remind you that Mom will be home soon and that you must wait for her. You promise me that you will.

I walk back down those twisty hallways toward the hospital exit. My heart is heavy and I feel tears slipping down my face. I do not move to wipe them away. Instead I silently offer up a prayer for your peace and then I head home to wait for Mom.

Sunday Scribblings -- Hi, My Name is...

Hi, my name is Supergirl.

It became my name after I started doing triathlons, knitting, writing, photographing and all around doing. People told me I was super, that I was a Supergirl and the name stuck. It's a name that makes me laugh because while I do think I'm super, I don't think I have the amazing powers of a Supergirl.

Being thought of as super isn't as hard as one would think. It enables you to mock yourself when you do something so un-super, like tripping over a curb. Supergirl is graceful, I am not.

I do like being Supergirl. It's a good name. What's your name?

Sunday Scribblings - Collector Personality

She dusted around them and beneath them. She had so many of them. She guessed she could be called a collector personality but could you have a personality that collects things if you only really collected one kind of item in particular?

She'd really have to organize all of them one day, put them together with her other ones that were similar or looked alike. She could put them in cute little boxes and label them or stack them high on her selves, selves that lined the wall from ceiling to floor.

The collectibles had really just gotten out of control and then they kept moving themselves around. If she wanted one of them on the third shelf from the right, then she did not appreciate when she came back into the room and they had removed themselves to the couch. There just wasn't room for any more of them on the couch!

Her friends did not understand her obsession with collecting all of them. She didn't understand how her friends were without the same kind of collection as her. She just didn't believe that you could go out and home just one. They needed to be taken care of by her and there were so many out there that she wanted to collect.

"Meow!" shouted one of her collectibles.

"Oh! I put up on that shelf for a reason," she cried as she placed that cat back on the top shelf. "Now stay there!," she reasoned with it. "I need to tidy this place up and all of you collectibles are getting out of control."

Sunday Scribblings -- Second Chance

She should have given him that second chance. She often wondered what would have happened if she had given him a second chance instead of striking him down after one meeting over coffee. Would he have taken her to faraway lands? Would they have children now? Would he have broken her heart after three dinner dates?

The opportunity for a second chance can be barely noticeable but should be quickly grabbed when offered. Second chances are like second dates, sometimes regretted, sometimes enjoyed. One doesn’t know until they are offered the second chance.

He offered her that second chance when he asked her out for the second time but fear gripped her throat causing her to croak out a "No" in response to his question. Moments later she regretted her words but he had already hung up the phone. Calling back would have taken more courage than she had in that moment.

Now years later, she sits in traffic and thinks about him. What he is doing, where he lives, whether or not he's married with little ones and pets. She'll never know though since she threw her second chance away when he asked her out on that second date. She vows then and there to never throw another second chance away like that.

Sunday Scribblings - Wings

We used to laugh when we heard Bette Midler sing the song, “Wind beneath my Wings” but now I sigh when I hear it. This is because you have become the wind beneath my wings. You know when to push me along with a gusty breath and when to gently guide me to my proper path.

You are the wind beneath my wings; sometimes the snarky, just do it pushy wind; sometimes the gentle breeze leading me to my proper destination; sometimes the gusty wind sending me on new adventures and sometimes the whispering wind, providing me with inspiration.

Your w
ind has given me the ability to stretch my wings but your wind has been there when my wings have been clipped, when I didn’t think I’d be able to spread them again. You’ve always made me believe that I’d be able to use my wings again and that I’d be able to spread them even further than before.

I strive to be the wind beneath your wings, when you need an extra gust when traveling along your path of life. I work to gently whisper support when your wings have been clipped from overuse. I lift you up when you are down and soar with you when you are full of joy.

For the wind beneath my wings, I thank you because I wouldn’t be the same without you and your wings.

Sunday Scribblings - Rooted

Sunday Scribblings - Rooted

She is not rooted to any one place but she is rooted to many people. She has connections to people around the world from London to Brazil and Seattle to San Diego. She keeps her roots in the hearts of the people she knows and loves while leaving the places she’s lived behind her. Like the wind, she is a memory in the souls of many and when her gentle breeze comes by, they smile with delight. Her kind of wind is almost always welcomed by those who recognize it.

I fight against being rooted but I am rooted to this place. It is my soul that remains un-rooted. It is my soul that floats along the land seeking its right place while my body remains in one place. I want to become un-rooted but my roots keep drawing me back to the same place. I’m drawn back because the place holds the people I am rooted to. They are the ones that keep me rooted where I am and if they ever left, I’m sure I’d go with them. Even though I know this, my soul fights against being pinned down. My soul needs to be un-rooted to thrive while my heart needs its roots. So, I will allow my soul to roam on vacations and my heart to remain rooted at home in its current reality.

We are two un-rooted souls who are rooted together by our hearts. Without the other, we would wither and no longer prosper. We live far apart in actual distance but live close together because we are rooted to the other. Being rooted isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it is our roots that keep us grounded to the other.

Sunday Scribblings - Rooted