Thanksgiving 2019

It’s not October 14th, yet, but it’s not too early to consider all of the things that I have to be thankful for. The family that gets together for the turkey is small and can at times emulate the Conners, yet in the end, things work out. The food is always delicious and made from scratch down to the pie and dessert. I don’t make it so I’m not bragging; my son does it all.

Apart from the actual day, these are things I’m thankful for all year round. Good friends, supportive friends who had put up with my rants, my fears, and my sometimes strange humour. There’s nothing more therapeutic than a visit with a lunch or coffee and laughs.

I live in small town Alberta and it’s safe with wonderful walking trails. Only yesterday, I saw a downy woodpecker, robins, chickadees and more in the Nature Centre. Gophers took advantage of the warmer day and sunned themselves by their dens. Tamarack turned golden; there are still red-orange leaves clinging to shrubs among the bare poplars.

Driving home from a supper out last night, combines worked to bring in the harvest now that it’s drier. I am hopeful that the weather holds so the grain will be in the bins without further disruption. Farming is risky business.

My house, though old, is warm and familiar. My kids are grown and successful; my grandkids a delight. I can say this with complete objectivity. We live a 2 hour drive apart which makes visits special but not something that happens rarely.

My husband and I are getting old (truthfully we are old) but are lucky to have the health to pursue most activities. He still hunts, fishes, gardens and plays his guitar. I have my fur-children (Scruffy and Taz) who I walk every day. I write and have the support of a local group of like-minded people. I have begun some art with a group meeting twice a week. I help with the local arts festival and am going to teach an introduction to memoir through Adult Learning. We still enjoy camping. AND I quit substitute teaching so I have even more time.

It’s a simple life but a very good one. I try to keep abreast of current events. When I see or read about the Kurds in Turkey, the Syrians, and the Iraquis, it hammers home my good fortune. The upheaval in the United States and the UK doesn’t have an easy fix. I hope we are smart enough to avoid their mistakes. I am lucky, thankful and very grateful to live where I do with the advantages I have.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Fiction Friday – Some Time Soon

This is a piece I wrote sometime ago. It was published by Transition Magazine. 

Sometime Soon

Coma: the patient is in a state of prolonged deep unconsciousness

Jennifer listens intently to the doctor.  One thing stands out in her mind.  David is awake.

She thinks, “He’s not in a coma.  That’s good news.”  She looks at him on the hospital bed and her husband is suddenly diminished; his strength lost.  His eyes are open and the doctors say he doesn’t see her.  She knows he does, maybe not really clearly or maybe not totally understanding what he sees but he does see her.

Vegetative State: the patient is awake but is not aware.

“It’s me, David.  I’ve brought you some flowers.”  She thinks she sees awareness in his smile.  More than she has seen before.  A feeling of great hope floods her being. Jennifer calls the nurse but by the time the nurse arrives, he is blinking and nodding at something in the farthest corner of the room.  The nurse is irritated.

“I have patients with real needs,” she says.  When she sees the look on Jennifer’s face her own expression softens.

Jennifer hates the discreet pity of the professional caregiver.  David was almost lucid.

     Persistent Vegetative State:  the patient has been awake but unaware for a month.

Jennifer comes every day at the same time. She always says, “It’s me, David.”  And then she tells him about her day and about the kids.  She is careful to explain how busy they are and why they can’t come to see him as often as she does.  David, Jr. is on the hockey all-star team and Kelly is going to a gymnastics tournament.  They both miss him, really, really miss him.

She never cries.  That is, she never cries when she is visiting him.  She refuses to give up and she is sure that David can feel her determination.  As long as she believes there is hope.  She has strong faith in positive energy.

     Permanent Vegetative State: the patient has been awake but unaware for a full year.

Jennifer is very upset with David’s doctors.  They want her to let them remove his feeding tube.  “But, he’ll starve,” she protests.

“He has no quality of life.”

David Jr. and Kelly stand looking on.  David, Jr. shifts uncomfortably and then he says, “The doctor is right, Mom.  Dad wouldn’t want to live like this.  You’re not being fair to him.”

Even Kelly agrees.  “This isn’t Dad.”  She cries silently, tears streaking her cheeks.

Jennifer looks at David, Jr. and she wipes her tears away angrily.  She does not cry when she is with David.  The doctor leaves.  David, Jr. and Kelly leave.

She wants to scream.  She wants to shout that it isn’t fair.  She wants to punish her disloyal children.  She wants David to wake up and come home.

David is smiling and he is drooling.  His eyes are blinking but he does not see.  His hands make spastic grasping motions at the edge of his blankets.

“Oh, David,” she says.  “What should I do?”

“Hmmmmph, huhhhh,” says David.  His right hand paws at the air.

“It’s beautiful outside today,” she says.  “The birds are singing and the sun is melting the snow.  Spring is here at last.”  She sits with David a long time, longer than usual.  She holds his hand and strokes it.  When she kisses him good-bye, she looks deep into his faded blue eyes.  She looks for David and can not find him.

‘It is a beautiful day,” she thinks. She knows she will have to give the doctors’ permission soon but not today.  Sometime soon.

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