Only day four and I am trying not to get to the point that I rush through the gratitude. Dump it out and quickly move on. I think it may be more valuable in remembering the gratitude by taking a moment more to soak it in and enjoy what I am grateful for. Take time to fill myself with the happy positive feelings it brings. Let it linger in my emotions and mind a little longer- let it take time to saturate and wrap me up in the goodness of the memory.
Therefore, I have been trying to write out my daily posts, and wiggle out the gratitude from my memory stores - in a little more depth. By not just writing one sentence but flushing out the gratitude by spilling my thoughts- as random as they may be- about the gratitude into as many sentence or paragraphs that feel I did it justice (and that time will allow on any particular day.) That the gratitude's positive vibe will able to take hold perhaps enough to carry through until tomorrow's gratitude moves in.
That being said, today my gratitude is for my Great Aunt Helen. She is my fraternal grandmother's youngest sister. She is still alive - well into her mid 80's- the last and only living member of that generation on my fathers side. Not only is my father dead -every one of his mothers siblings (except for Helen) is as well. I selfishly hold onto her-knowing that when she is gone that precious link is gone as well. But that is not why I am grateful for her- it is because of who she is.
I wish that the whole world knew her- really I do. Why? Well for countless reasons. Some of them difficult to pin down (it's troublesome for me to neatly wrap up and express all what I feel about her into a cohesive explanation- but I will give it an attempt- as weak as my skills may be.)
Helen is a candle- she can light up a room with her smile- her humor is apparent in the twinkle in her steel blue eyes and the depth of her laughter. She is an incredibility charming and courteous conversationalist. When you talk to her- she is not rushed for you to get to the end of your story- you would never feel that she is bored and that you are wasting her time. No, she will listen and ask you questions about your story until you are good and done. She enjoys you being there and there is no doubt about her sincerity.
Though this may sound cliche- you would know what I meant if you would talk to her- it is a feeling that right then you are the most important person in the world to her- and that every thing about you mattered to her. You are eye to eye, and heart to heart when you are with her. Does that make sense?
I am not mentioning this for any pity- just so that you might get an understating of how someone like Helen could have affected me so. I have always felt as the black sheep in my own family. Actually I still am. I never fit in- always looking in from the outside- and their treatment of me mirrors how I feel (perhaps the law of attraction again.) My mother had four children in four years- and a detached neglectful husband who slipped into the throes of alcoholism- complete with chronic unemployment, raging hostility and social isolation. She desperately struggled to hold our family together and out of survival -became the sole wage earner.
In this mix- I was the second born- yet more of a middle child of sorts. As most birth orders go- -the baby needed her most and guaranteed her attention. Followed by the third born who had severe allergies and needed her assistance and aid when he was suffering a bad attack. My sister- the firstborn was in charge and my mom's second hand person. I was sort of the middle child- adrift in the mix. I went along- and plodded through expecting, needing and getting little as far as attention or love. But I'm not saying this is bad. It is what it is. The sky is blue, the grass is green, I was the easily forgotten middle child in a chaotic dysfunctional home.
Yet there was Great Aunt Helen. I mattered to her- and still do. She gave me a sense of worth that I never felt before- and for that I am grateful- now and forever.
Everything about her is warm and kind. How she looks. The softness in her face- the happiness of her smile- the gentle grayish white curls that frame her angelic face. There is so much about her that is so dear to me that I can not imagine I can do justice to all of them. Therefore I will not try- but only highlight the ones that readily come to mind. And speaking of that- right now I'm thinking about her culinary skills.
Oh, yes. Her cooking. Don't get me started on her cooking. Egads. Her Scottish shortbread butter cookies that are flaky little rectangles that melt in your mouth and fill every taste bud with pure unadulterated blissful joy. Her husband of over sixty years, Art, says that that is what he misses most about her. Her incredible cooking skills. Art misses it because now Helen is suffering from a form of dementia. She no longer cooks- for the cruel ravages of the disease have stolen away much of her memory and with it secret ingredients and measurements too.
A tear welled up in my eyes, and streaked down my cheek as I felt the enormity of that last sentence's truth take hold. Dementia. That cruel disease that sneaks in as a forgotten name, then a face- that slowly and meticulously packs away your precious memories into a storage cell you can no longer access. My Great aunt is being stolen away- memory by memory from all of us. I wish I could grab dementia by the shirt collar- slam it up against a brick wall (it seems so forceful and tough in the movies- like they mean business) and say "Leave Helen alone- you bully! Get the hell out of here or else I will kick your sorry behind!" But alas, I can't.
I have to sit by and watch Helen get taken down by the uncaring bully and thief that is called Dementia. That sucks. I have to get out of the sad feeling and force myself back into the positive because that is what this journey is all about.
So- Thank you my sweet dear Universe for giving me- out of all the Great aunts in the world I could have had- the greatest- Helen. God bless you Helen and may you still be around every summer for my yearly visits to Chicago. I love you.
Therefore, I have been trying to write out my daily posts, and wiggle out the gratitude from my memory stores - in a little more depth. By not just writing one sentence but flushing out the gratitude by spilling my thoughts- as random as they may be- about the gratitude into as many sentence or paragraphs that feel I did it justice (and that time will allow on any particular day.) That the gratitude's positive vibe will able to take hold perhaps enough to carry through until tomorrow's gratitude moves in.
That being said, today my gratitude is for my Great Aunt Helen. She is my fraternal grandmother's youngest sister. She is still alive - well into her mid 80's- the last and only living member of that generation on my fathers side. Not only is my father dead -every one of his mothers siblings (except for Helen) is as well. I selfishly hold onto her-knowing that when she is gone that precious link is gone as well. But that is not why I am grateful for her- it is because of who she is.
I wish that the whole world knew her- really I do. Why? Well for countless reasons. Some of them difficult to pin down (it's troublesome for me to neatly wrap up and express all what I feel about her into a cohesive explanation- but I will give it an attempt- as weak as my skills may be.)
Helen is a candle- she can light up a room with her smile- her humor is apparent in the twinkle in her steel blue eyes and the depth of her laughter. She is an incredibility charming and courteous conversationalist. When you talk to her- she is not rushed for you to get to the end of your story- you would never feel that she is bored and that you are wasting her time. No, she will listen and ask you questions about your story until you are good and done. She enjoys you being there and there is no doubt about her sincerity.
Though this may sound cliche- you would know what I meant if you would talk to her- it is a feeling that right then you are the most important person in the world to her- and that every thing about you mattered to her. You are eye to eye, and heart to heart when you are with her. Does that make sense?
I am not mentioning this for any pity- just so that you might get an understating of how someone like Helen could have affected me so. I have always felt as the black sheep in my own family. Actually I still am. I never fit in- always looking in from the outside- and their treatment of me mirrors how I feel (perhaps the law of attraction again.) My mother had four children in four years- and a detached neglectful husband who slipped into the throes of alcoholism- complete with chronic unemployment, raging hostility and social isolation. She desperately struggled to hold our family together and out of survival -became the sole wage earner.
In this mix- I was the second born- yet more of a middle child of sorts. As most birth orders go- -the baby needed her most and guaranteed her attention. Followed by the third born who had severe allergies and needed her assistance and aid when he was suffering a bad attack. My sister- the firstborn was in charge and my mom's second hand person. I was sort of the middle child- adrift in the mix. I went along- and plodded through expecting, needing and getting little as far as attention or love. But I'm not saying this is bad. It is what it is. The sky is blue, the grass is green, I was the easily forgotten middle child in a chaotic dysfunctional home.
Yet there was Great Aunt Helen. I mattered to her- and still do. She gave me a sense of worth that I never felt before- and for that I am grateful- now and forever.
Everything about her is warm and kind. How she looks. The softness in her face- the happiness of her smile- the gentle grayish white curls that frame her angelic face. There is so much about her that is so dear to me that I can not imagine I can do justice to all of them. Therefore I will not try- but only highlight the ones that readily come to mind. And speaking of that- right now I'm thinking about her culinary skills.
Oh, yes. Her cooking. Don't get me started on her cooking. Egads. Her Scottish shortbread butter cookies that are flaky little rectangles that melt in your mouth and fill every taste bud with pure unadulterated blissful joy. Her husband of over sixty years, Art, says that that is what he misses most about her. Her incredible cooking skills. Art misses it because now Helen is suffering from a form of dementia. She no longer cooks- for the cruel ravages of the disease have stolen away much of her memory and with it secret ingredients and measurements too.
A tear welled up in my eyes, and streaked down my cheek as I felt the enormity of that last sentence's truth take hold. Dementia. That cruel disease that sneaks in as a forgotten name, then a face- that slowly and meticulously packs away your precious memories into a storage cell you can no longer access. My Great aunt is being stolen away- memory by memory from all of us. I wish I could grab dementia by the shirt collar- slam it up against a brick wall (it seems so forceful and tough in the movies- like they mean business) and say "Leave Helen alone- you bully! Get the hell out of here or else I will kick your sorry behind!" But alas, I can't.
I have to sit by and watch Helen get taken down by the uncaring bully and thief that is called Dementia. That sucks. I have to get out of the sad feeling and force myself back into the positive because that is what this journey is all about.
So- Thank you my sweet dear Universe for giving me- out of all the Great aunts in the world I could have had- the greatest- Helen. God bless you Helen and may you still be around every summer for my yearly visits to Chicago. I love you.
