Morning

There’s something about morning, the way it creeps in, then settles here in its incarnation as day. It’s not clear why it comes; it’s not clear what it needs. It’s just clear that it comes every day on a schedule. Morning is its own kind of gift – not from God, not from a god. Just a gift. I long for it; I open my eyes hoping for it, knowing it will come as it…
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Morning (A Prose Poem)

Morning rides in on the wings of evening. Night time we know as empty space. There’s a comfortable repetition to that, but something seems amiss when storms roll in unannounced. We’ve seen this before, but every year it’s a surprise. “Look at that cloud on the horizon,” we exclaim, “Look at that!” I know that there are those who attribute the change of seasons to God; I know that there are those who attribute the…
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Memory

It’s Saturday morning and I have come downstairs to begin an essay, but no luck. Between the top of the stairs and the bottom I forgot what I was going to write about. It’s like that these days: my memory eludes me. Deb tells me that my memory problems can be attributed to brain damage done by the seizure I experienced earlier this year. When I write to my neurologist to ask whether my brain…
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More About Memory

It’s Saturday morning and I have come downstairs to begin an essay, but no luck. Between the top of the stairs and the bottom I forgot what I was going to write about. It’s like that these days: my memory eludes me. Deb tells me that my memory problems can be attributed to brain damage done by the seizure I experienced earlier this year. When I write to my neurologist to ask whether my brain…
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My Ancestors

Though our political and social attitudes could not have been more different, my paternal grandfather and I shared an intense emotional connection. During the last years of his life we talked on the phone almost every evening and I visited him several times a year. Most often, our conversations focused on the minutiae of daily life, but not infrequently my grandfather lamented the physical distance between us and wished aloud that my father, my sister,…
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Susan

In the mid-1950s, when she was in her late teens, Deb’s cousin Susan was diagnosed with a progressive form of MS and the constant progression of her disease curtailed any plans she had for attending college and enjoying a career. Instead, she spent much of her life confined to a manual wheelchair and isolated in her own home. By the time the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law in 1990, Susan was already…
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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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