Archive for the ‘childhood’ Category

Cheese and crackers

October 26, 2025

My Dutch grandma served cheese and crackers,

chocolate candy with vanilla creme,

green and white mints, melted in your mouth,

windmill cookies, and 7-up.

She lived through the Great depression,

sat at her foot pedal sewing machine,

revised used clothes from someone else

to fit her own children,

went to church on Sunday,

and always had a smile.

Told us of times Grandpa couldn’t find work

and “had to go work for the WPA”,

They built sidewalks and did other jobs

after the first world war,

She loved hosting friends and family,

the adults talked for what seemed like hours,

until she winked and said with a smile,

“Let’s have a little lunch.”

Children then ran into the kitchen,

were treated like Kings and Queens,

climbed up on chairs awaiting them,

felt the love in their family,

watched her pour the magic bubbly,

ate cheese and crackers, and candy.

This is where we heard stories,

learned some family history,

but what I most remember

is my Grandma’s cheery laughter,

always happily hosting,

sharing what they had.

cfblack, 10-26-25

Life before the Internet

May 27, 2025

Before the internet

we used telephones,

not in our hands, but on kitchen wall.

We had to take turns, we had to be home,

and all we could do was talk.

I can even remember a “party line”

we shared with other households,

Before making a call, we picked up the phone

to see if our neighbor was on the line.

If they were, we had to wait

until they finished theirs.

It’s hard to even imagine today

the life we had back then.

More contemplation, more time alone,

no random AI listening,

None of that. NONE of that.

More personal time, more privacy,

Unless we were talking on a phone at home,

we were talking face-to-face.

No texting, no zooming, no Instagram or “X”,

no FaceBook, or Snapchat, no TicTok

or Messenger,

no teenagers worried what their friends thought

of their latest video.

No 24/7 bullying,

when we went home, it stopped.

— Last night I mentioned something,

never googled it, or searched.

Today it appeared on FaceBook

while scrolling messages.

Men now have AI girlfriends — they never disagree,

Women have AI boyfriends — “they always listen to me.”

We need face-to-face conversation, holding each other’s hand,

Sharing difficult topics and trying to understand,

I have no patience for texting, and I like my time alone,

So please excuse my slow response and not answering my phone.

cfblack 5-27-25

Road Trip

May 25, 2025

Riding in the back seat of a car to Charleston
Takes me back to 10 years old,
Riding in the backseat of a station wagon
For days on end. No air conditioning,

To California, San Diego, Disneyland, Yosemite,
Northern Redwoods, Grand Canyon, Zion, the Badlands,
Looking for fossils, camping, riding a stage coach or a horse,
sand dunes, walking trails, the Great Lakes, waterfalls,
Canada, Lake Huron, Mexico, a bull fight.
my dad’s yellow raft, with him paddling a river.

My family was adventurous, these were our summers, when my dad escaped the stress of his academic life,
These were our times, family vacations,
Times for us to get away, spend days together.

You think you have a lifetime, then realize it’s over,
and these are the moments you have.
The days you look back on, the times you cherish,
the memories are what last forever.

cfblack, 5-25-25

The piano

February 20, 2025

I remember the day you came to us,
Excitement intense and real,
I was the one who mastered you,
who played for hours on end.
Four years learning to play your keys,
to lift my fingers,
prance them along,
to play with emotion and haunting beauty,
There were times I would stop, sit in silence,
cry, tears rolling down my cheeks,
Frustrated, not moving,
staring at the keys,
until my Father called to me,
“Later, take a break,” he said,
“Come back to play it later.”
and I thought, one day, you might be mine,
to play in joy and solitude.
When my mother passed, there was no way
to bring you to the South,
so you went to our oldest daughter’s house
and lived there for awhile,
Until one day, she gave you away, to another family,
their daughter wanted to learn to play,
and so, you went to them.
There was too much symbolism
to bring you here, even if we wanted,
the meaning of you took on other hues,
of shadows and of sorrow,
so once again, I now release
the pain of former years,
Detach myself from physical things,
thick with meaning and memory,
You travel on, away from me
to the home of a total stranger,
while I am left, as a little girl,
with memories that haunt, and linger.
cfblack, 2-7-14, revised 2-19-25

Sometimes I see her

November 7, 2021

Sometimes I see her sitting

in the gravel driveway,

Picking out her favorite rocks,

The ones she finds unique,

playing with baby sister’s bottle,

Crawling around pretending,

making cards for family

coloring napkins in the “sunroom”,

I see her spend hours arranging her dolls,

Making up stories of their lives,

riding her bike in the neighborhood

To find a tree to climb,

I see her reading Nancy Drew

Or Superman comics in her room,

Playing her transistor radio

dancing dancing dancing,

She thinks deeply,

likes spending time alone,

I know her.

She is me.

✌️
  • cfblack, 11-7-2021

a quick trek over 6 decades – almost

August 18, 2012

Tomorrow is my birthday. I was born approximately 1:10pm on a Wednesday, 59 years ago. My older brother was 8 years older than me so there was a big space between babies. In fact, my parents had been trying to conceive for probably a couple years, so my birth was greatly anticipated. I imagine the fact that they then had a girl, after awaiting their 2nd child and already having a son, was also a source of joy. Being born in the middle of summer and a Leo, I have an enjoyment of hot weather (although not so great as my husband’s). Over the years, I’ve had my birthday in quite a few places, such as the Grand Canyon, Yosemite Natl Park or Mexico, since the family was often on vacation. As a kid, I never got an in-school birthday party, but I did get my birthday in fascinating places!

My thought for this blog is to give some very brief thoughts for each decade of my life. I am not as prolific as I used to be and seem to be much more introspective these days. But this sort of occasion seems to merit some musings.

My childhood home was Indiana. Most of my life, in fact, was spent in this state. I have realized, after living a few other places, that there is definitely a Midwestern culture and a Midwestern value system, and I subscribe to it. What is that, you ask? It has something to do with living through the hardship of Winter and smiling at the snow, appreciating survival, appreciating life, taking precautions against the cold that can literally kill you, and knowing the pure joy of a fire in the fireplace on a cold Winter evening. We have been snowed in with our kids for days, more than once. The first time with children was when our firstborn was a few months old. My husband’s parents lived in the house next door and it took 2 days to get out to them. I have realized over time that this teaches you to work through the tough times. The Midwest and Purdue also have their cultural flavor. Hispanics hit the scene big time much later than the time when I was growing up, but they are part of the culture, part of the landscape now. Asians at Purdue are a large population. I grew up appreciating diversity, seeing diversity through my father’s profession and school, if not so much in our own neighborhood. We entertained my father’s international students many times in our home as dinner guests.

My first decade. Memories, to me, revolve around the houses I’ve lived in. My first 5 years were spent close to Purdue. Being a Boilermaker is literally part of my bones. My father graduated from and taught there, I was taken to basketball games probably before I could speak, and I used to go with him to campus on Saturdays, blissfully exploring the Mechanical Engineering building while he worked in his office. There were all sorts of displays of machines of various kinds. One of them was a weighing machine where my younger sister and I could weigh ourselves. It was a big adventure. My sister was born 2 1/2 years after me. One of my very earliest memories is of myself crawling on the floor pretending to be a baby, with her bottle in my mouth.

At age 5, we moved across the river, still in Purdue country but not exactly in the same town. We moved into a much larger 2-story house with an attic and basement. The attic was hot and full of treasures some people might keep in their garage. We kept them in the attic. The basement was a large circular area with cement floor which we used for roller skating. My younger brother was born literally 8 years after me. This completed my 1st decade, then we moved for one year only, to Michigan.

Fifth grade for me was spent in Michigan. My father took a leave of absence and worked for General Motors for a year. He moved the entire family, wife and 4 children by this time, to Michigan with him for one year. Fifth grade was a blast, I had my favorite teacher of all time, lots of friends, joined Girl Scouts, went camping, and lived next door to a tennis court. It was also the year President Kennedy was shot. I remember it very well.

The next year we left our Michigan home and returned to the same house we left in Indiana. However, by age 13, we were moving again. My father came home one day and said, “Well, where would you like to go, California, or Pennsylvania?” Little did we know, he was looking for a new position and took it from Drexel Institute of Technology, now Drexel University. We moved to a suburb of Philadelphia.

I again made friends, attended schools, living the first year in Germantown PA, and then another suburb. To make a long story short, my life there was drastically changed forever when my beloved father died unexpectedly of a heart attack at age 50. My mother, distraught and lost, moved us back to Indiana, the place she knew, the place where my father’s sister lived and my mother’s parents. I was 16.

By age 18, I was getting married. I met my husband, the man I am still married to now after 40 years. This decade ends with our wedding, two years at Ball State University, and his being drafted, another change which through our life goals into oblivion for a number of years. My husband had a deeply felt belief that this war was wrong. He applied for and received conscientious objector status. This meant you still got drafted, but served 2 years in a hospital or some other public service venue. In fact, it was the end of the Vietnam war and hardly anyone was being drafted anymore. But he was. And he was pulled out of college.

After his time of service was over, we moved back to our hometown looking for jobs and no longer in school. During this decade, our 20s, we began having kids. Our firstborn, a daughter, Jasmine, was born when I was age 24. My father’s mother died that same year. Our second, another daughter, Leah, was born 2 years and 3 mos. later. At the end of this decade, I was having our firstborn son, Jamal, at age 29. These years were filled with promise, filled with joy and discovery, and we were the poorest we’ve ever been our entire lives.

The decade of our 30s was the 1980s. Suffice it to say, the economy flopped. Bad. My husband lost middle management jobs more than once. We were managers of an apt. complex, then moved from there into “an old house we thought we would fix up”. It was an absolute wreck, and we lived there for the next 11 years. I had a miscarriage in 1984, then our fourth and last child was born, a second son, Levin. I was 32 years old for my last child’s birth. The boys were both born AT home, with midwives assisting. We’ve always looked for the natural child birth way, and see child birth as a natural life event that, in most cases if there are absolutely NO early warning signs, goes perfectly well. With 4 children and very little money, you don’t go out often, and it certainly would not have paid me to go to work. I was a stay at home mom for 11 years.

In 1995 we started a grocery store business that eventually also flopped. When our youngest was a year old, I went back to work part-time. This eventually became a full time job, at Purdue University Libraries. AL was working various management jobs and also became the high school soccer coach, turning it into a varsity sport and a VERY successful team. He manages youth well, they relate to him well, and he became a soccer coach as well as a father figure and life coach for them as well. We took in two kids as foster kids during these years, each one for a little over a year. The end of this decade has us both working and active in our community, still very poor.

Our 40s. I worked at the library for the next 16 years, actually spending enough time there to earn a little retirement check which they owe me for the rest of my life, by the time I quit. At some point, I went back to school. It was very easy for me to leave the library, attend a class, and return, staying later to make up time missed. Little did I know, this was the beginning of a back to school process that would just continue on until I completed a Phd, 10 years later! I finished my bachelor’s in 1996, at age 43.

That leaves my final decade of life, up to now. Our fifties. I completed my Master’s at age 47, took almost a year off and then returned to complete my PhD classes. In 2006-07, I felt free to take a one-year visiting professor position in northern Indiana. Looking back, this was not wise, because although it earned me the most income I’ve ever earned in a year up to that point, I did not finish my PhD as planned, and had to quit totally at the end of that year, not work, and just write. I sat down to the computer in April 2007 and wrote out the final chapters day after day after day. It is THE hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. People did not expect me to ever finish — except my family. Without my family’s support, I would not have finished. Students I had entered graduate school with had all left. Students who had come in AFTER me had left. My committee and major professor were wondering if I’d ever do it, and were losing faith in me finishing my goal. I knew this was it, I had to do it now, and I was not about to have come THIS FAR and not finish. So I knocked it out of the park. There were so many battles along the way I cannot even explain, but each one was overcome.

In the summer of ’08, I started applying for permanent teaching jobs. I got 3 interviews and 2 solid offers. I took the one that was tenure track. In Fall of ’08, we moved to another part of the country and I started my job. In October, I returned to Purdue to defend my Phd thesis. In Dec. 2008, on the coldest day of the year, I graduated. I got 4 tickets to the ceremony so my husband did not attend so that our four children would be there watching their mom. What a historic day.

Moving to the south away from my daughter and grand kids in Indiana, and son & his wife in WI, was SO difficult, I cannot begin to convey that. However, after looking for a job in Indiana and not finding one, you have to complete the dream and take a job in your field. And that is what I did. My husband was willing to follow me to my job. As of now we’ve been here 4 years and have 4 publications. The biggest heartache of my life is still being so far away from so much family. Our consolation is that one daughter & her family live also in the south. We now live in 5 different states, with each child in a different state and us in a 5th. We try to visit and take one vacation together per year.

In the middle of this 5th decade, in 2007 my mother died. To spend her last 5 days of life with her and watch the change along with my younger sister and brother, was a blessing that can never be taken away. Two years later, I was also blessed to be with my older brother when he passed.

I have to say, looking back, we have come a long way. I cannot imagine that I am close to living 6 decades. We raised 4 children and they each have a college degree. Two are working in the field they studied and two are not. We have four super grandchildren, 3 boys and 1 girl. Looking forward to the future. I see more grandchildren in my future. 🙂

Dixieland jazz memory

February 19, 2010

We are still in New Orleans, where I presented at the Race Gender and Class conference in honor of Pres. Obama. Though small in number of participants, it was a mixed group and very interesting sessions. All about where we stand with race class and gender identity at the time of America’s first African American president.

But tonight, I want to write about a little-known bit of information about me, and probably somewhat unusual for a white girl raised in the Midwest. I grew up on Dixieland jazz. Satchmo, clarinet and saxophone are what I heard as a young girl growing up, on my dad’s record player which he designed and put together himself. I don’t know why, but that was my dad’s favorite music. I personally have never been able to take classical music. It bores me to tears and doesn’t touch my heart. Can’t freaking stand opera! Blues or certain kinds of jazz touch my heart. Motown and soul get me going, makes me want to dance. Dixieland jazz brings back a flood of memories of life with my father.

Tonight we walked Bourbon Street, early in the evening. Bourbon Street is always a trip. Music blasts you from every doorway. People sing, play music and tap dance on the streets for money. You can’t stand around too long, or people come out and bug you to come inside so they can hit you up for a drink. You can’t make eye contact on the street with locals or they see a dollar sign and start giving you a story. My husband even got CAUGHT tonight when a man struck up a conversation with him and challenged him with a joke! He fell for it! The guy ended up shining his shoes, of all things, and my husband handed him the $7. in his pocket! I couldn’t believe it. They’re so quick & then you have a glob of goop on your shoe and then you feel obligated.

We decided to go in and sit down tonight & actually hear some music. So I picked an old style jazz place. It’s ALL live music, bands, singers, this is New Orleans after all! We sat down, the waitress came by, and we each ordered a coke, one by one. She gave us a rather knowing, disgusted look and went to get our cokes (non-drinkers). Then I got into the music. The man sang real old New Orleans tunes. Sitting there brought back a flood of memories of listening to this music with my dad. There was one night he took only me and my mother to downtown Philadelphia. The place was called “The Red Garter”. I remember because it was a little embarassing for this 13-or-14-yr-old girl. We got there so early, they played a set just for US. My dad sat there totally uninhibited that we were the only ones in the crowd, and clapped his hands. He always encouraged me to move however I felt like it to the music. It was a fun night. Sitting at the table in New Orleans tonight brought back that memory. I expected to turn and see my dad sitting at my table. Brought tears to my eyes, it was so strong a memory.

My father died about 2 weeks after my 16th birthday. I still thought he was King of the world. Never did get over it. It’s been so long though, that it is rare that a memory of his presence returns with such clarity. Tonight I remembered being with him, turning and seeing my dad in full enjoyment, clapping his hands to the music, when we were the only customers in the place.

child spirit

November 25, 2009

This time of year takes me back to when I was a child. Very nieve, very sweet, totally vulnerable, unprepared for the world. I think back to those times because it was all pretty much smashed to bits a few years later.

My favorite Christmas piece that came out of a box was a wind-up nativity scene. It played music, and the 3 wise men went around in a circle, in and out of the stable. I used to sit and play with that thing and watch it, for a long time.

Another favorite thing were the bubble-ornaments, that heated up from the lights on the tree and started a bubbling fountain inside the ornament. They were quite something. As I remember, we had a snowman that also held some in his hands. They would light up and do the same thing. We had some ornaments that would spin around with the heat of the lights, as well.

For me, seeing the tree lit up with all the other lights turned off was a true joy. Almost better than presents.

I am thinking of getting a small Xmas tree with beautiful lights of all colors to put in my office this year, just because it is “my space” and I can do it if I want to. May even get a tiny little Nativity scene to sit on my desk. These are parts of my past, connections to the sparks of spirituality that carried me in faith into my future, when I became a Baha’i.

There was a night when I was in the kitchen drying dishes, next to my mom who was washing them. Without thinking, I found myself arranging all the dishes and cups on the table. My mother turned around suddenly and shouted, “What on EARTH are you DOING??” I looked at her, shocked, and then said, “This is Jesus here in the middle. All the cups and silverware are all the people listening to Him.”

My mind has always been imaginative, creative, trusting, nieve. Kind of always “out there” dreaming. I am all grown up now. But I like thinking of myself as that innocent little kid. My child spirit.

Thanksgiving

November 25, 2009

Memories of Thanksgiving

My hair in curls I thought were cute,

Large dining room table and formality,

China we never use any other time of year,

Both my grandmas and my mom in the kitchen,

More food than anyone could ever eat,

my Grandpa saying the Lord’s prayer,

My dad carving the turkey,

mountains of mashed potatoes,

3 kinds of pie,

everyone taking a nap,

football games on tv.

ACOAs – Adult children of alcoholics

October 9, 2009

Here is one post where I will try to state what I have learned about adult children of alcoholics (of which I am one).

This is off the top of my head (swoosh!), because I have read a lot of books, gone to a lot of counseling and attended many different meetings of ACOAs and Al-Anon. Counselors can be good or bad. It’s sad but true. I once had a counselor advise me to leave my family for 2 weeks. Sometimes they are idiots. Honestly, I think the most productive, positive group I attended was Al-Anon meetings. They are mostly wives and husbands of an alcoholic, and they are not run by a professional counselor. Those people have figured out how not to be co-dependent. They are very independent-minded, and they understand personal responsibility, and where it stops. Here are some of the most valuable things I learned.

  • Adult children of alcoholics are 40% MORE likely to either be alcoholics themselves, or marry someone who abuses substances. Now, why the heck would that happen?

 (Why this would happen: We gravitate to what we know, especially if we are in denial. It feels familiar.)

  • Children of alcoholics do not know what normal is. They struggle to figure this out the rest of their lives. How do you show love in a relationship? What do you share with others? What is okay to keep a secret? What is appropriate to say or not say? What is a healthy relationship, what is unhealthy?

 

  • They grow up in families where they cannot talk about the elephant in the room. There is an elephant in the room that is hurting everybody. But the person responsible for the elephant refuses to deal with the elephant. The children may, at times, throw the elephant out, but it comes right back. They may draw attention to it, but the person responsible for it keeps saying, “Poor me, poor me,” and remains focused on him or herself and makes you feel guilty. So after awhile, you also deny its existence. (It must not be there.) You even take part in attacking others when they say it is sitting there stomping around the room. This is a learned pattern. Avoid, avoid, avoid. Deny, deny, deny. It is not really there! You are exaggerating! But I love you! It won’t happen again! It’s not that bad. How can you do this to me?? Occasionally you tell other relatives it is there, but they don’t believe you. So you start to think it is something wrong with you.

 

  • You are very self-focused. Sometimes you, as well, get on the “pity-pot” as they say in AA.

 

  • Some children of alcoholics go on “auto-pilot”. They show no emotion, very detached from others, don’t get social cues, and they like it this way. That way they don’t have to “feel” what is truly going on. This is how they get through life.

There are different roles that children of alcoholics take on, related to the patterns above. From the outside, for a long long time you can look like a “normal” family. You keep the secret well.

1. Oldest child – becomes the caretaker. Becomes the parent. Tries to take care of everybody, covers up for the alcoholic parent. Sometimes becomes a super-achiever, doing well in school, doing well at a job, exceling at everything they do. It is exhausting. You overcompensate. Everyone thinks you are a wonderful person, so successful. You don’t drink. You are dying inside.

2. Second child – More likely to drink and abuse alcohol themselves. The partier, they stay away from home and act out exactly what the parent is doing. In trouble at school, etc. Also in total denial. (They are not alcoholic, they are just having fun!)

3. a youngest child usually becomes the family clown. This child gives up on making sense while everyone is acting crazy & they just entertain everybody.

Imagine as a child having to clean up your parent’s vomit and put them to bed. Sometimes you start locking your bedroom door so the parent won’t come charging into your room drunk at night and make outrageous demands, like get up and sweep the floor, it’s dirty, yelling at you in a drunken rage. And nobody outside your home believes what is going on because by this time, you’ve given up. People don’t believe you anyway. You are a child.

Yes, it is totally damaging. Yes, children are affected – for life. Children don’t know why the parent can’t quit their habit for THEM. It’s not about loving the child enough to quit. It’s about being addicted, physically, emotionally, mentally, to a substance. It is a disease, or like a disease. It gets progressively worse and it eventually kills you.

When we took my mother in for treatment, the week my youngest child was born, I had given up. My sister came for the birth of my child, and asked, “How long has mom been this way?” Mom had gone on a 3-4 day drinking binge along with our oldest brother who was living with her at the time. She DROVE HER CAR over to my house, to see the baby. She talked and made no sense and left. I just had a baby. At that point, I had other responsibilities. My sister and youngest brother took it upon themselves to drive her into a treatment facility, and leave her there. It was probably the most difficult thing they’ve ever done. And it saved her life.

No one believes this either, but it is true, I’ve seen the medical records. My mom was .69 alcohol content when she arrived. She should have been comatose or dead. It took her a full week to get SOBER. It is disgusting in every aspect. But that is the state she had come to. When she arrived, she was TALKING, and ASKING for A DRINK of the nurses!! You can almost laugh about it. I stayed home and made the call that she was coming in. They asked me, “Has she been drinking?” I was so in denial I said, “I think so.”

I think so??  I THINK so?? Yeah, she was nearly dead.

My mom was a classy lady. She had risen in status with our father in his position as university professor of mechanical engineering. She still looked good. She hid bottles in her car, all over her house, and in her purse. She kept a full-time job. She was so good at hiding it, no one ever believed us when we told them. She nearly died and we all were severely affected by the patterns of interaction it set up in our household.

This was all many years ago. My mom, showing her own indeterminable strength and spirit of faith (I truly believe that) never drank again. She stopped cold turkey. Thank God for that. I forgive her for all she did to us. I really do. And I can think of her now with love. She loved all of us, I know that. But she was nasty to me. She would be mad at me no matter how much I did for her. Then she would turn around and accuse me of not coming to see her enough. I have forgiven her for that. Maybe she did the best she could. Who knows? I certainly don’t. She was funny, she loved Purdue basketball, she loved me, I know.

In any case, the question for me is, to what extent do I still show these kinds of patterns. I still don’t know what normal is. From a pattern of keeping secrets, I now find that I can’t keep any information secret. I’m an open book. If someone TELLS ME NOT to pass on something, then I can do that. But they have to tell me.

I don’t do all for everyone anymore. Go to Alanon, you will learn that trick. It’s very hard though. Sometimes I still want to. I want to give my kids and grandkids the world.

My situation was compounded by the loss of my father through early death just before the loss of my mother to alcoholism. From the shock of the 1st loss, I have an innate fear of EVER bringing bad news to my kids. I try to imagine the worst that could happen, and prepare for that. Because that’s what happened to me. And I was in no way prepared for it. So I always think of the worst-case scenario and try to prepare myself for that to happen. Just in case.

My oldest brother died of addictions. Cirrhosis of the liver is what he officially died of. He was on the street, homeless, alcoholic, and I know he did cocaine (I don’t know how much). Spending the last week of his life with him, which is what started this blog, was a very happy time for me. I am so glad we had that week. I hate to think what it would have been for him to be alone the last week of his life. I knew, by intuition, it was time to go. My sister was unable to get away from work to come. She had been in contact with Dan before he became sick enough with the cirrhosis that he could no longer function. Due to their contact, we heard that he was in the hospital.

That week, I could talk with him, bringing back some memories for him, of us as a family. I knew he would soon SEE and BE WITH our dad and mom. I frankly wanted to encourage him to remember them and those times, so he would GO to them when he saw them. My brother in a wheelchair begged me to take him out of the hospital and nursing home. He wanted a drink! Out of it, he even told me he missed that good, cocaine rush. My god. He begged me for an ice cream cone. They kept bringing him this crappy thick-type water, which he hated. That was because he was having trouble swallowing. So I got him a delicious ice cream out of a machine on the patio – TWICE – breaking the rules. I didn’t know for sure, but he only had a couple days of LIFE to GO, when I did this for him! I am so glad I broke the rules. He was so happy too, so appreciative. I was able to spend an afternoon of time saying prayers with him. I asked him if I could read some prayers, and he said, “Sure! Go ahead,” and hung his head. I read prayers while he fell asleep. This was the day I rolled his wheelchair outside onto the hospital patio because he was so cold. We sat in the sun. It was a good time.

I am sad for the state of my family and what all pain it caused. But I am really at peace now, at least within myself. I am happy with things I did for them, in the name of God alone. I have no regrets there. Regrets in other parts of my life and regrets for my extreme immaturity and how long it took me to learn these lessons, yes. But not in my caring for them. It was not for their sake, but in the name of God, as a service. And I did it to the end.

I can only hope that no more damage comes to my husband, my children or their children in the form of patterns of interaction from the past. My husband’s family is stable and has taught me much. My husband has taught me much. The only way to avoid damage in the future is to face the truth square on, and consult with one another. I pray God that will continue to happen.