It is 1:19 a.m., Labor Day. 2 years ago on Labor Day I took mother to the hospital for the last time. Four days later, Sept. 7, she died. Today is Sept. 7th. I still have dreams that remind me that she is dead. I keep being surprised that my unconscious still thinks I need these reminders. On the other hand, it is not like I have moved on that well with my own life, so maybe I really do need these reminders.
If Marsha's challenge is to eat nutritiously, my challenge is to live in a clean and tidy house. Years ago, in Phyllis's apartment in Granite City, we were sitting at her computer, both looking at the same piece of paper on the floor. Phyllis said, "if my mother were here, she would pick that up!" We laughed, left it on the floor.
I have a great tolerance for disorder...I don't really LIKE it, but the effort to create order just seems so difficult. I know that this is an adult child of alcoholic issue -- the tolerance of something fundamentally unhealthy for me. Karen (Gord's wife) said to do just a little each day; I pointed out that that was quite a sensible notion and that I wished I could be that sensible. Maybe I can try.
Thank you, Marsha, for tricking me into this blog. Tricky you. CW
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