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Friday, September 18, 2009

CHANGES




Here you can see what is left after an automobile fire. Frames are all that's left. It was curious to see the glass melted looking like cake icing. I thought about taking a piece, but it was welded to the steel. I went out to Tommy's garage in Twin Oaks to see it and take the license tag off it. Not to say good-bye. I did that while it was burning, when the headlights went out. They just faded out the ways eyes die. By the time I saw it at Tommy's, I was over it. It was dead, this the remains after cremation. It was nice, nonetheless, to touch my old friend.



Curious feelings standing out there in this place that takes care of dead and rehabilitated vehicles clicking pictures of it. It was a good truck. I loved it and it loved me, like a good old dog. It's name was Swift Round Feet. I don't know why except that's what came to me and nothing else would. I wanted a variety of names to pick from, but that was the only one that came to mind, so that's its name. I bought it from a fellow in Ashe County named Perry. Found it in the parking lot in front of Roses in Jefferson with a phone number in the window. My friend Bette Rose was with me. We were driving back from Little Switzerland. I saw it when we passed, it felt right, had that golden glow about it that said it was my next truck.
I'm thinking I might talk to Jr and Ross about buying Jr's car. He'll never drive it again. It runs good. Only needs a tuneup and an exhaust leak fixed. I'd want to have it painted too. I'd like to drive it the rest of my life just because it was Jr's car. Like Larry Woodie has Jr's banjo and isn't going to let go of it, because it was Jr's banjo. I'm certain that's what I'll do. It has front wheel drive, which is necessary for winter. Front wheel is so close to as good as 4wheel that I really don't need 4wheel now that I don't cut firewood anymore and snows are less severe. Big snow, I stay home. No problem.
First thing I'll need to learn is to turn the headlights off when I've been driving in the rain during the day. I have failed to think of turning them off 3 times now and have needed help getting it started each time. I've vowed to myself that won't happen again. Turn off lights. It was Jerry Edwards' car before. Jerry takes good care of his equipment. It's been well treated. Until Jr backed into my front bumper and broke the tail light, which also needs fixing. He felt bad about that. He said, 'I've never done that before.' And I knew he was right. Jr is accurate about everything he does. He's always been hyper alert and aware until these months when he can't even be barely alert and aware.
Today he was kind of off the deep end. When I woke this morning near 7, I found him on the floor with his head touching the wall, just lying there waiting for me to wake up. Patience is his virtue. I've told him I'm there to be woke up when he needs help. Oh, I don't want to bother you. He wasn't in pain or uncomfortable. I sleep on the floor. He's not afraid of the floor. I set about getting him to sit upright. No. Wanted to lay there. OK. I fussed around, made some coffee, and made another attempt to help him rise. No. And he hurt all over, which is an all the time thing. The only place I can handle him to move him is with hands on ribs. That's the only place he doesn't hurt. To pull on his arms is such pain it's unbearable.
When I saw there was nothing I could do without hurting him, I called Hospice some time after 8, maybe quarter til 9. I waited long enough for Jr to make up his mind about getting up and he continued to choose to stay. The floor's OK, but there comes a time when it's not all right. Like I'm not going to leave him on the floor all day. Two of the angelic nurses showed up. It was like they were cooing over him getting him up. They talked to him, asked him questions, talked to him as a mother would, so loving and so personal, and they reached him. They convinced him to let them help him up into the wheelchair so they could give him a check up and clean him up, because it turned out he was on the way to the pottie chair and didn't make it. He had diaper underpants on, so that was less gross than it might have been.
Watching them help him upright was like seeing two daughters taking care of their daddy they loved with all their hearts. They poured the love into him, assuring him they're with him. It made me tremendously happy for Jr, because I could not allow him to leave his difficult, honorable, noble life in despair as a stack of lumber with a file number in the computer, cared for superficially in a cell. I could not allow that for Jr. It is a peculiar part of our medical system that allowing someone to die at home is about the same as against the law, nursing home the answer to old age.
Hospice is giving him way more than I can give. I can take care of the house and the food and laundry and always be there for his comfort so he can rest knowing I'm there, parcel out the pharmaceuticals, see to it he has at least one ensure a day, keep the pottie clean. Jr has a deep need for feminine energy. He's like a rechargeable battery and feminine energy is the charger. I'm not meaning in a sexual way, though that's there too. I've seen it over and over that there is something in what I call 'feminine energy' that revives him, that brings him to life, just the presence. When a woman comes to the house to visit, I always ask her to sit close to him, and with some I explain it's for the feminine energy. It helps him. All understand what I mean.
The hospice nurses have an understanding of their feminine energy as a healing energy. I have a great respect for women who understand about themselves that feminine energy is a strong healing force. I.e. nurses. Male nurses may know what to do and be good at what they do, but they don't have that healing feminine energy. In Bridget Bardot's (French Marilyn Monroe who could almost act) early films, she's often a nurse. I can't supply that, so I encourage all the women who care about him to come to see him. The women who work with him through hospice and hospitals I encourage them to be aware of their feminine energy as a healing force for him. I don't always put it in those words, but I've never had any trouble getting it across, because women understand it. Jr's mother was a nurse.

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