Friends

I suspect we’ve all lost friends. This disease takes a toll on us and leaves us unable to interact with others like we used to. I’m not able to give in the way that I used to. I used to enjoy being the one others could lean on. I used to love being a confidant – hearing and not repeating. It was as if I belonged in others’ lives, as if I held a special…
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I Leak and I Fall

These days, my life is sort of messy; I have no control over my bladder. I am inclined to wet myself fairly frequently. It’s messy and it feels like an assault. I have always been a bit persnickety about my appearance and about cleanliness. I can no longer worry about those issues because if I did I would do nothing but clean myself up all day long. That would be a waste – of time,…
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My Ancestors

 My Ancestors As I review my blog, I notice that I have been rather self – reflexive lately. It is as if I am obsessed  with my past and even with myself. Does that mean I am narcissistic? I really don’t know, but what I do know is that I have been thinking quite a bit about my own life and about the lives of the relatives who came and went before me. I only…
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My Paternal Grandparents

Like my paternal grandfather, I nod off every day all day. I remember him sitting by the telephone waiting for the call – the business call he remembered from his working days. He nodded off all day every day. It was sad – the way he waited and nodded off all day. I remember sitting with him and wondering what he did when I was not visiting. Did he simply sit by that phone all…
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It Means

It’s a beautiful day in Cincinnati; breezy and cool, though sunny. It’s the kind of day I love. It’s the kind of day I would love to have something to do. That said, I don’t want to go to a movie. I don’t want to go shopping. In fact, I don’t want to do anything indoors. Therefore, I don’t know what to do. Nothing really seems appealing. Should I have lunch in the park? Should…
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Multiple Sclerosis

There is no poetry in “Multiple Sclerosis.” It falls flat in the ear, a siren in place of music and meter. Like the disease itself in the body, it is a silence loud as a crow’s caw in the solitude of a warm afternoon.  It comes to this: listening to the way muscles refuse the project of movement, to sad hands that once grasped with strength and fervor but now abandon that work for erratic…
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I am Afraid

I am Afraid I am afraid, afraid I will never be the same again. I once dreamed of being a published poet, an award- winning teacher who spent her life in the classroom surrounded by students who love me. I am afraid that what I began years and years ago will never come to fruition. I am afraid that when I am gone I will simply be gone, that no one will remember me. I…
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Betrayal of Dreams

Dreams, forever forgetful and fond of fiction, tend toward betrayal. More often than not these days, I dream myself standing, walking– gliding, really–down hallways, up staircases, into dances. In sleep, my body exists only to satisfy its mind, settles into blissful illusions of its own ability. Beast that I am, I wake each morning wholly convinced by the night’s movement, once again sure that this disease, like all those before it, has run its course…
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Going To Bed

For the first time in a long time I’m going to bed by myself. That doesn’t mean that I’m sleeping alone; what it does mean is that I’m going upstairs, changing my clothes, and getting into bed by myself. It has been three and half months since I have been home after my seizures. For all that time we’ve had a woman come down me into bed. Last week, though, I told Deb that I…
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