wordwriter

Cleaning the Attic
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2002-12-08 19:47:43 (UTC)

Auspicious Beginnings

Welcome to my world. If you stopped by to read something
exciting or fun, you are in the wrong place for my life is
neither of those. Mine is the life of a 47-year-old, for
all intents and purposes, shut-in, on disability for a
bipolar illness for the past four years. Not that I'm
complaining. I could be locked in a mental institution, as
I have been in the past, so, for now, I am thankful to be
in my own home, surrounded by the familiarities I've grown
accustomed to. The sound of my two dogs wrestling playfully
on the living room floor, the tick of the clock, the hum of
the Dell monitor.

Life in my house has taken on a new dimension since my
separation. My daughter, Julie, her boyfriend, Nacho and my
precious granddaughter have moved in with me temporarily,
as well as my son, Josh. I will have them with me for
approximately one year at which time Josh plans to move to
Arizona and Julie and Nacho will find a place of their own.
For now, my home provides them monetary refuge, for which I
am thankful I can serve a purpose. For awhile my house is
pleasantly full, and I am reminded there is joy in living.

But I must not get overly comfy with this living
arrangement. The time with my family will pass too soon,
and then I will have to face drastic change. I will have to
part ways with my capacious house, and find sancturary in a
new place of residence, most likely a confining apartment.
Radar and Simba will, once again, find themselves hoping
for reprieve, only this time they will not be adorable,
irresitable puppies but overly large, somewhat intimidating-
looking canines given to violent though innocuous barking
at strangers.

So much will change a year down the road.

But today I will not dwell on those changes. Today I will
be thankful I found a site to post my scribblings. Perhaps
the life will return to this writer spurred on by the duty
of giving to the public something viable to read. Perhaps I
have found in this page a purpose for continued daily
growth.

As to the events of this day, I could post them
chronologically, which is where I will begin for purposes
of having a beginning.

I awoke with a start while darkness still enveloped my bed.
Julie was in a state of "pania"--panic and mania, over
Mia's apparent night-long episodes of vomiting and
diarrhea. A combination I had hoped would bypass the 5-1/2
month old, as it had already landed on the remaining
residents of this house, save Nacho. My weary mind reached
back into my memory of my own babes racked with fever and
illness and briefly I was prideful that I had managed all
four of them so well. Nevertheless, since I was a good 17
years out of practice, I decided it best to advise a call
to the E.R. to err on the side of caution should little Mia
become dehydrated. Julie was advised to offer water only
and, if vomiting continued, a trip to the hospital would be
in order. Luckily, that did not come to pass. The crisis
was avoided, and Mia held the water down like a little
trooper.

So it was back to sleep for me for a few hours until the
light of dawn played its role in beckoning me awake. It's a
struggle to awaken from a night of sleep where dreams take
you to glorious places, magical and stimulating. I lay in a
state of semi-consciousness for a good hour, deliberating
whether or not it's better to lie still and doze or face
another day of seeking a jolt of happiness inside these
walls. I eventually always reach the same conclusion, and
today was no exception. This morning I tripped down the
stairs and into the kitchen where I heated up the remainder
of last night's pepperoni pizza while questioning Josh on
his state of health. His answer pacified me that he was
well on the mend although an Imodium would probably be in
order.

It isn't always easy trying to mother a 19-year-old son,
and I find myself in unfamiliar territory, for my role was
always that of caregiver and, the past few years have seen
a role reversal. And not just because of my bipolar
illness. Mostly because my son must find his place as a man
and, in his mind, that counts me out. However, small
miracles still occur, and, aside from his usual pushing me
out of his personal life, my son, probably delirious from
fever, turned into as pathetic a man child as I have seen,
barely capable of wiping his own behind; and I, once again,
became to him a supermom of sorts, with the power to soothe
his aching joints with a gentle massage until he was able
to doze off. It does a mom good to feel needed; this mom,
in particular. Josh's fever has long since lifted, and,
after the affects of the influenza are ancient history, he
will once again take his stand as a man of all men, no
doubt forgetting the help I rendered, but I will not
forget, and I will be grateful--for the memory.

Pizza consumed, I curled up on the soft, burgandy sofa and
meditated over a book of short stories, finding only one
captivating, then meandered into the office for an e-mail
check, finding only bulk mail for the offering. I noticed
my brother, Steve, online and we engaged in a short relay
of questions and answers before he had to sign off. That's
just about the time I began a search for an online journal
site, and this is where you find me now.

That's about the extent of my day so far, and my
concentration has extended itself as far as it will go for
the moment, so I will continue my daily search for
something worthwhile to do and, if something momentous
occurs before day's end, I'll be back to post it.
Otherwise, we'll just leave it settle where it is for now.
~Marjee


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