Month: October 2019

I don’t remember ever seeing these in Colorado, and you can’t really see them here in Florida either, but they are here. These little monsters are so tiny you don’t notice them, until it’s way too late! I swear they are nothing but mouth, with a full set of teeth. They only feel like they have teeth, instead they are equipped with an alien like probe, seeking out blood, and from the looks of my legs, they prefer my blood to any other! These beasts are known as no-see-ums!!! Yes, that’s an official name! Like I said they are tiny. When they fly you hardly notice them. They appear to be innocent, and barely register on our radar. When they land, they look like a tiny speck of dirt, and if it didn’t hurt so bad you might never notice what had bitten you. Even when you’re looking to find the culprit you often don’t see it. I’d rather take my chances with a mosquito!!!

At least with a mosquito you have a fighting chance. They don’t attack from the shadows in silence. They make their presence known with their obnoxious whine-like buzzing. We anxiously search the air around us, hoping to swat them in mid-flight before they have a chance to insert their hypodermic needle into us. When mosquitos do land, you can usually feel their presence on your skin, giving you a chance to level the playing field, so that the mosquito’s friends don’t think you’re an easy target.

No-see-ums…no such chance! They are nothing if not stealthy. They know we are oblivious to their presence. Last week Kim and I, along with our daughter and granddaughter, attended an evening event at the Naples Botanical Garden. October is a big month for these nasty creatures, so we sprayed up with insect repellant. It’s not the perfect solution, but it helps. A few no-see-ums made it through the gauntlet of Deep Woods Off, but the results were not too miserable. On Saturday evening we were pushing our luck when our son, a pilot, flew into the Naples airport. He doesn’t do that too often, so we were excited to get an unexpected visit. Kim and I went to the airport observation deck to watch him land. We had used the last of our repellant at the Garden, but we caught a break with the wind. Nature’s protection from flying insects. The following morning, when we went to see him off, it was a different story. The air was calm, but the no-see-ums were not! They were hungry! For 30 minutes we stood out there waiting to see Ben off, and wave our goodbyes. It was 8:00 in the morning, and in that short time those no-see-ums devoured their version of Thanksgiving dinner!

My legs are a tangle of red welts that make it appear as though I have chicken pox! I itch! They say not to scratch. Seriously! And just how am I suppose to subdue that overwhelming urge? I use cortisone cream during the day, take Benadryl at night, and curse these invisible creatures always! The effects last longer than a mosquito bite, swell larger, itch more, and even hurt. So, before cursing them all into extinction I looked to see what, if any, redeeming value they have. Turns out they are the only natural pollinator of the cocoa plant. Figures! It just might be worth giving up chocolate to rid the world of these nasty vermin, but I’m going to need to think on that.

It was late at night on September 19th when my mom slipped away from this world. She was 81 years old. Three days shy of her 82nd birthday. We had been waiting for it, actually wanting Jesus to take her, releasing her from the pain that was tormenting her. It was curious how I could want something for her, and yet be so afraid of it, and what it meant.

A year and a half ago my mom was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. My sisters and I knew then that she would not fight it with anything other than a sheer force of will. The three of us accepted her decision, and came to terms, each in our own way with what that meant.

In that time it became easy to pretend nothing was wrong, as life seemed to go on as usual, and then suddenly Mom became tired, really tired. She complained of pain that went beyond her normal arthritis, and she couldn’t pinpoint what hurt. She retreated more often to bed, and I took to searching for answers online. This had to be the cancer, and it was.

Overnight she made the decision to enter into Hospice. My heart skipped a beat as I read the requirements, “…terminal illness, when taking its normal course, would likely end in death within 6 months”. Okay, time to get my ducks in a row and get to Arizona. I suspected we would lose her somewhere close to Christmas. What I didn’t expect was that in fact, we had a week!

It all happened so quickly! There was no delay! She entered Hospice one day, and then fell twice the next, which required assistance from 911. The following day she moved into my older sister’s house, and that same day I got the call that I needed to come. Two days later I was there. That morning she had gotten up, with help, and then received “Last Rites”. The church doesn’t call it that anymore. Technically it’s called the “Anointing of the Sick”, but when you have cancer, and you’ve progressed to Hospice, we call it what it is, “Last Rites”, and it meant this was serious! By the time I arrived at the house, just after noon on Saturday, she no longer had the strength to get out of bed.

My sisters and I were blessed. We spent the next couple of days talking to Mom, and she to us. It was a struggle for her, but we were able to share memories, laugher, and tears; each of us saying goodbye in our own way. We bathed her, fed her, gave her fluids, and medication. And with each day a little more of her slipped away; one foot in two different worlds.

We meticulously gave her pain medication. Carefully recording each dose. Increasing it each day, until finally we were increasing it by the hours. We gently massaged her feet, her head, her hands, because our touch, no matter how light, would elicit a grimace of pain. Our goal of keeping her pain free was out of our hands, but we did the very best we could. Cancer, such a heartless beast!

However, in those six days we gave Mom the best gift we could ever give her. She died how she wanted. She was at home, with her three daughters by her side. Her hospital bed in the family room where we sat, talked, ate, prayed…all the things you normally would do as a family. We physically and spiritually took care of her. We gave her 100% of ourselves, until Thursday night, at 11:00 p.m. when she took her final step from this world into the next.

And now I’m in a dense fog. I can’t focus. I have no energy. Every task makes me feel like I’m walking in quicksand. My feet being sucked from beneath me. I’m having anxiety attacks. I cry a lot, feel out of control, and oh so sad. This is the darkness of grief. Grief will not be cheated. It will not be ignored. I cannot hide. I am forced to face it head on. In time I will move through it, for grief is a desert to cross, not a place to live. I will never get over losing my mom, just like I never got over losing my dad 17 years ago. But to honor them, I will get on with it, and continue to live as long as I’m alive.