Every Scar ... Dying ... To Teapot

 

7:44 am ... March 12, 2024 ... Tuesday

Precious Camo Kissy Fairchild Camie and Skip Bates  Skip are sleeping. 

Camie has been up ... I had to help her get up on her step, then onto the bed. She can't jump up on the bed anymore.

The beautiful sun is shining but, not on my hair. 

The house is clean, all the laundry done ... it is like this most every day. 

I think when I mop, change sheets, pillow cases ... the house is even more cleaner 💜🩷❤️💚💜😊 We all have our funny ways of 🤔 thinking 😊

The sun is now shining a little brighter... it is changing because of the time change. It is shining on my arm making me notice ... my skin has also, gotten a little older 🤔😊🤔

I see some fine lines ... my first thought upon seeing them is ... wow! I am so lucky to see ME getting older ... I wasn't supposed to be here years ago.

Every surgery scar ... every Life scar /has/have been earned by ME. Each one has shaped me, made it possible for me to live until this very moment being Gloria.

I am never ashamed of my scars ... each means additional Life I have lived, am going to live until the day I die.

Dying ... this is a subject that bothers everyone including myself. 😒 

Seems like we wouldn't be afraid of dying because we know so many people including our closest loved ones who have died.

I sometimes think if they can ... I can too. Of course, one day I will ... but, I mean it in the way that I try to ease my fear of dying. It doesn't help.

When I think of dying my thoughts go instantly to Skip, Camie. I don't have time to die because as long as they are on this earth it's my responsibility to take care of them. 

You know how it is ... no one would care or love your loved ones like you do ... especially when they have disabilities. 

When they were strong ... it was a different story 😊 Everybody wants them then ... but human nature is like that ...when a person begins to weaken, lose strength ... their glory goes away. 

They become no one to those people who so much liked them ... those people disappear. The only ones ... or one left ... is/are the ones who truly loved them.

The ones left are the real people who love with their very Heart. They go through Hell, high water to protect, care.

When you grow older, weaker ... watch who leaves your life and ... who stays by your side. 

Also, if you are about something ... watch the ones who have greed in their eyes ... their Hearts. 

I see, sense this in adult children waiting, watchful, hoping ... when there's a lot for them to gain. I have paid attention for many years.

We aren't about something.. so, there's nothing for anyone greedy to want. 

Wow ... what a subject to be on this morning  but, that's Life. That's ME ... there's no telling what I will think about ... sit ... put into words, write about. ✍️ 

Most people don't speak about such ... I can. So much death has touched my life ... I have had to cope ... experience shock so, so many times.  I have been forced to think, look at, see death.

When my son, Tommy, died ... I was truly forced into looking at death the closest ever. I truly haven't ever known such pain as what I went through in my entire life. 

Pain ... that took me years to even come back alive from ... yes, come literally back alive from. I made it back through the darkest of dark in my life. 

I look back especially to that one time when laying in such torment, darkness, pain ... the medicine I was given ... I have no idea what it was ... the medicine was so powerful ... I couldn't hear, see anything ... I wasn't afraid to die. That was a time Skip said I was barely breathing, began to wake me.

I don't talk about these things, at times I do write them. Writing is my survival tool.  

If you happen by to read my words ... just read them never feeling pity for me ... my words aren't meant to gain sympathy,  pity ... my written words enable me to live, survive as they are my only outlet for the pain I carry in my Heart.

You can think of a happy, colorful teapot steaming ... that's why it can be happy, colorful. What would happen if that steam was trapped inside? 

My written words, no matter how imperfect  ... are the steam from this happy, colorful teapot 🫖🙃🙂😊🙂

Oh my, just a few words from something my Grandma Alma was teaching me ... a silly poem just came to mind from the past: something about a teapot ... short and stout ... here is my handle, here is my spout ...